The Plan
by defeatdafeet
Summary: 1. Get straight O's on the N.E.W.Ts...2. Go out with Ron...3. Be Head Girl...Hermione Granger has planned for the perfect seventh year, but everything is ruined by a certain blond by the name of Draco Malfoy. Or so she thought.
1. First Day of School

**Yes, this story will have some cliches. I tried to make it as realistic as possible, despite the fact that...well DMHG isn't realistic. Please R &R! Thanks. ****I own nothing but the plot and the weak attempts at humor...**

**_Chapter 1: First Day of School_**

Hermione Granger was happy.

The warm autumn sun shone down on her face, and she crinkled her eyes, looking for Ron and Harry. They had run off to say hi to Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom. The three had spent the second half of their summer at the Burrow yet again, much to the dissatisfaction of Hermione's parents ("We almost _never_ see you anymore, dear!") and opposite feelings of Mrs. Weasley.

She was also pleased since Ron had stepped up his game, if it can be called that. He often put his arm casually around her shoulders, or complimented her spells when necessary. She just wished he would ask her out already and make it official. The flirting, the looks, the casual touching...it was all building up to it, she could feel it.

"Are you ready?" Harry asked. She didn't even notice him coming back.

"Oh, yeah...I have a short meeting with the Head Boy...um, could you tell Ron?" said Hermione.

She had avoided mentioning this fact so she wouldn't hurt Ron's feelings. Ron was being extremely moody and he had sulked for three days straight when he didn't find a Head Boy badge in his own envelope.

"Oh," muttered Harry. "I'll go tell him then."

The two climbed the steps into the steaming Hogwarts Express. Hermione turned to the front of the train, while Harry started towards the back.

"Don't worry, I'll go find you guys as soon as the meeting's over," she promised, calling over her back.

"Okay!" he called back.

As Hermione walked towards the Heads' compartment, she briefly wondered who Head Boy was. Honestly, she wasn't surprised that Ron wasn't Head Boy; he had been about as helpful as Malfoy as a prefect. It was probably Ernie Macmillan. He was intelligent enough, hardworking, and dependable.

The Heads' compartment was about twice as long as a normal one, with an ornate door that donned the "H" for Heads, exactly like the one on her badge. She traced the metal letter, touching the smooth grooves and animal carvings, feeling a special kinship already. Her fingers extended to the handle of the compartment door and she confidently pulled back...and came face to face with...Draco Malfoy?

"Malfoy?!" she cried incredulously. How was this even possible? It must be a trick, a prank - the only way Malfoy could be Head Boy was if he killed every other male in Hogwarts. First years and teachers included. Maybe even Snape. She purposefully ignored the badge on his sweater that was identical to the one she was wearing.

"What the FUCK are you doing here?" she whispered icily. Saying the curse word was strangely euphoric. The sight of his stupid ferret face made her blood pressure rise spontaneously.

"Oh god, I hoped it wasn't the Mudblood," sneered Malfoy. "I think you should watch that little mouth of yours. You're already dirtying my air enough without your swearing."

"I said...what the _fucking_ FUCK are you _fucking_ doing here!" screamed Hermione. She didn't care who heard her, but the idea of Malfoy being Head Boy simply ruined her plan of the perfect seventh year, her year to shine. About a third of her plan to be exact, the Head Girl part, all crushed by a certain bastard blonde.

"For your information, I'm Head Boy, and I'd appreciate some resss...pect," he said in his drawling voice, clearly mocking her with his request. "I suppose it's too bad that Pothead and Weas – "

SMACK! The shock and fear in those pale eyes gave Hermione a maniacal desire to laugh. Six years of Malfoy's bullying, yet only twice her fist met his stupid face; definitely not enough. She pulled back her hand for another hit, the feeling of power cursing through her veins...stupid, bloody Malfoy...stupid git...

"Miss Granger!"

A chill went down Hermione's spine. She snapped her head toward the door to see Professor McGonagall clutching the frame with her mouth hanging open with shock and her eyes bulging like a frog.

"Was that you swearing? And...Merlin's beard, _what are you doing to Malfoy_?" gasped Professor McGonagall. "I would have expected better of you two, being Head Girl and Boy!"

Hermione let go of Malfoy like she was scalded. He collapsed onto his seat and moaned continuously about his self-proclaimed disfigured nose. "Professor! How is MALFOY, out of all the...? Why _him_?!" she demanded and she noticed that she was squeaking with hysteria. Clearing her throat, she said again, "I just don't understand...surely...anyone...Ron! Ernie! Even Pansy Parkinson would make a better Head Boy!"

Surprisingly, McGonagall scowled and joined Hermione in glaring at Malfoy, both thinking the same thing: _bribes_.

"I don't know either, Miss Granger. His record hasn't exactly been clean – several harassment reports, skipping prefect duties, abuse of power and all – but...Professor Dumbledore seems to believe he is suitable. I personally recommended Weasley." She gave a sidelong glance at Malfoy, who was still mumbling incoherently and rubbing his face.

McGonagall faced Hermione again, her expression scornful."Anyways, congratulations to you both for being Heads. As you know, your position in the student body is equal to a teacher. You can give detentions and other punishments, for _legitimate_ reasons," (glare at Malfoy) "and you have a special Heads' bathroom, common room, dormitories, and study room. You may use these facilities or you can remain in your respective house common area, whichever is your preference. Now, when I leave, you will go to the prefects' carriage and give them a nice little speech. When you arrive at Hogwarts you will help the prefects supervise students going to the castle. Any other information should be in your letter."

She adjusted her hat, then promptly Disapparated.

By then, Malfoy had finished whining and sat with his limbs sprawled over the velvet cushions. Hermione noticed that a bruise started forming under his right eye, next to his nose.

"Well, Granger, let's get this over with. I, unlike you, have friends who think I am worth waiting for," he said with a nasty smirk. Hermione ignored him and marched down the hallway to the prefects' carriage.

Still furious, she wrenched open the door and stomped into the crowded room, purposely not noticing the frightened looks given to her. She avoided Ron's eyes altogether, knowing how he would react to being passed over for Malfoy, of all people.

"Good morning, everyone! Um...congratulations to the fifth years...and welcome back, sixth and seventh years...er..." She racked her brains for what the Heads had spoken about last year. Her breathing was a bit ragged from marching so fast, and it did not help.

A few moments later, Malfoy swaggered in behind her, glaring at the fifth and sixth years as some sort of twisted greeting. He stood next to Hermione – silent, smug, and utterly unhelpful. Hermione managed to bumble through her speech, speaking about organizing the debarkation, common room passwords, and other responsibilities while she continued to feel a surmounting frustration towards Malfoy.

She peeked at Ron once, to see him gaping at Malfoy with stunned and angry expression, with his jaw slightly dropped. She couldn't blame him.

As soon as she was done, she gritted her teeth and left the compartment to go find Harry's compartment, leaving Malfoy where he was. Harry, Neville, Ginny, and Luna were appropriately shocked at the news of Head Boy. Ron walked in a few moments later, looking absolutely livid.

"First Malfoy's a _prefect_, now he's _Head Boy_. Next he'll be Minister of Magic! I can guess who he'd put in Azkaban first..." Ginny said darkly.

"I could would've been a better Head Boy!" Ron complained loudly. He put his arm around Hermione's shoulder. "If that ass does anything to you, Hermione, I'll personally curse his dick – "

"Okay!" Hermione said, blushing. "I think we get the point!"

In a significantly better mood, Hermione spent the rest of the train ride reading _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7_, which had become a huge 700-page book, compared to the flimsy first one. Ron, Harry, and Ginny discussed Quidditch the entire time, while Neville and Luna took naps. The Hogwarts Express debarkation went smoothly, with no sign of Malfoy thankfully.

Hermione felt calm and happy doing what she did best, leading and organizing and planning and using her brain...perhaps it would still be a wonderful year after all. Her two other goals for her seventh year looked positive; Ron was being bolder and she wasn't worried about N.E.W.T.s anyway. Besides, Malfoy couldn't do much under the close scrutiny of teachers.

Students poured through the oak front doors and settled themselves at their House tables. Hagrid later came in with the a line of first years behind him; it looked oddly like a mother duck and her ducklings. Sorting was slow, but Hermione clapped when needed. Finally, Dumbledore stood up to begin his usual speech. He looked as insane as ever, with his crooked nose and half-moon glasses. Beaming at the students, he threw out his arms in welcome.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts! I hope you all had wonderful summer full of fun and giddiness, and empty of books! I want to introduce your new Heads, Hermione Granger..."

There was a huge roar from the Gryffindor table, with scattered applause from the other Houses. Dumbledore grinned at Hermione proudly. She felt hands pat her back, and she couldn't help but puff out chest like Percy Weasley did.

"And Draco Malfoy."

The Gryffindors screamed and booed, but their complaints were drowned out by the cheers from the Slytherin table. Hermione pinched her face in disgust at the sight of Malfoy whooping and encouraging his table, and the shrill voice of Pansy Parkinson ("I LOVE YOU, DRACO!").

The following feast went peacefully though. Harry and Ron exchanged perverted jokes and put two whole roasted Cornish hens in sexual positions, both of which received much eye-rolling from Hermione and laughs from the other Gryffindors. The two did this at every feast since the beginning of fifth year, and it got worse every time.

_You're so cool_, Hermione thought sarcastically as Ron stuffed a wing into the other hen's arse hole.

The rich food made her feel sleepy and slow, and reluctant to finish her Heads duties. She sighed when the last plate of pudding disappeared, and she watched Ron and Harry trudge toward the grand staircase, while first years clustered around the east end of the Great Hall, unsure and fidgety. Malfoy was still at the Slytherin table talking with Crabbe and Goyle, and they were laughing stupidly.

Hermione finally stood up and approached the first years, beamed, and said, "Welcome to Hogwarts!" They seemed relieved that she was friendly.

She then turned around and screeched, "Oi! MALFOY! Get your stupid _ass_ - HERE!"

Visibly scowling, Malfoy told Crabbe and Goyle something, got up from his bench, and walked toward the group of nervous first years. Every muscle on his face displayed his annoyance.

"As I said, Granger, I won't accept your foul language."

Hermione muttered "I'll show you foul..." and turned to the group of eleven-year-olds. "Your _Head Boy_ here will show the Slytherins and Ravenclaws where your common rooms are. Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs will come with me." She gave Malfoy a smirk comparable to his own.

Malfoy sneered at the students and whipped around suddenly, walking towards the staircase.

No one followed.

"What are you waiting for?!" he said loudly. They jumped and scampered after him.

"Hey, Slytherins FIRST! You, Ravenclaw kid, stand there! I'll come back for you other lot in a moment!" he snapped. The Slytherin first years hesistantly trailed behind a grumbling Malfoy toward the dungeons, while the terrified Ravenclaws stood rooted to their spot. Hermione made a mental note to slap Malfoy the next time she saw him.

After she was done with showing the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors their common rooms, Hermione dragged herself into her dorm and fell face-first on her bed, fully dressed. She was strangely exhausted. She briefly noticed that Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were missing, but their trunks were already open.

_Probably fucking some poor blokes_…Hermione thought as she drifted to sleep.


	2. Classes and Clashes

**Thank you silentemotions3 for your lone review! I shall continue. And I own nothing.**

_**Chapter 2: Classes and Clashes**_

Hermione woke up the next morning with a killer headache and a sore right hand. She wondered why, then remembered that she had punched Malfoy yesterday.

Yawning, she got up from her bed and brushed her teeth with some difficulty, due to the bruises on her knuckles. Her punch must have been pretty hard. Hermione grinned maliciously to herself thinking of what Malfoy's face looked like. With toothpaste foaming her grinning lips, she looked somewhat like a rabid, psychotic monkey.

After she was done washing her face and dressing, she descended the stairs into the empty common room. The grandfather clock read 7 o'clock, which meant that there were still two hours to kill until her first class, Ancient Runes. Hermione decided to go to the classroom, grab a bite of breakfast, and read her favorite book, Hogwarts, a History. The 8:45 bell rang as she was munching a plain bagel while reading about the Forbidden Forest. There was an audible rumble as students began traipsing towards their respective classes, but none of the sounds were near the Ancient Runes classroom.

Hermione knew for a fact that only seven people were taking the N.E.W.T class, herself included, but she didn't know who else.

Professor Bathsheda Babbling, an elderly crabby old woman, waddled out of her office and broke into a wide smile at the sight of her favorite student.

"Miss Granger! How was your summer, dear?" Professor Babbling said in a grandmotherly sort of way.

Hermione smiled politely. "It was wonderful. How was yours, Professor? I heard that you were asked to go to Norway to interpret some newly-discovered hieroglyphics that the Ministry team couldn't even decode."

At this, Babbling began to reel off a tale about her travels, while Hermione simply nodded and exclaimed at all the appropriate places. Yes, she was a master at sucking up.

As the 9 o'clock bell sounded, the rest of her classmates filed in through the door. Lavender Brown (looking very tired indeed), Hannah Abbott, Terry Boot, and Malfoy's little threesome. Hermione's eye twitched with annoyance, but she made sure to pay attention to Babbling's babbling.

True to her prediction, Malfoy had a large, delicate-looking purple blotch on the right side of his nose, which he tried to cover up by casually placing his hand on the side of his face. Hermione smirked inwardly and thought, _Serves you right, ferret_.

Professor Babbling immediately launched into a lecture after everyone was seated, and Hermione listened intently. Oh, how fun it was to learn! In her third year, Hermione was disappointed to learn that Hogwarts didn't offer language classes (Mermish or Gobbledegook would have been fascinating!), so she took Ancient Runes instead. She loved the feeling of extracting meaning out of the strange little symbols and learning stories and...ah, she was such a nerd, but it was worth it.

Malfoy had noticed the excited, eager expression on Hermione's face and he smirked.

"Good God Granger, don't wet yourself thinking of Babbling naked. You know she doesn't like you that way."

Hermione snapped her head in his direction, lips pursed, eyebrows knitted, and cheeks pink with rage. She at least expected him to behave properly during class. Did she have to put up with this every single minute they were within ten feet of each other?

"Look who's talking, rodent. The front of your pants looks like a tent," she retorted in a hissing whisper. It was a lie, but she thought it was clever enough.

"Tsk, tsk. Why are we looking there, Granger?" Malfoy grinned, showing off a set of animal-like white teeth. Clearly, this amused him to no ends.

She blinked several times. "Oh yes, Malfoy, your nonexistent penis arouses me oh-so-much. I feel like touching myself just by looking at your little campsite there." She turned back to the chalkboard.

She heard him snickering, quite loudly too. Professor Babbling stopped in her monologue and looked in his direction, frowning.

"Is there something you'd like to share with us, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked apprehensively.

"Yes, in fact I do, Professor Babbling, ma'am," Malfoy drawled. Again, Hermione turned around to stare at him. What the hell was he doing?

"Ma'am, I was just pleasantly surprised that Hermione Granger here pleasures herself sexually by thinking of me," he said loudly and innocently. Crabbe and Goyle began guffawing at the word "sexually" while Lavender Brown gaped at Hermione in a respectful awe-struck way.

Hermione's face burned with humiliation and anger as she blinked back furious tears. This was bullying on a whole new level. She would have never thought that even someone as slimy as Malfoy would say something so scandalous. Yes, she thought, she would have to say something back or else it would seem like it was true. _Damn my sarcasm_.

She raised her hand and chirped, "Professor, I think Draco is mistaken. In fact, he is the one who masturbates while thinking of me."

Babbling looked pale, faint, and shocked at the realization of how dirty her students' minds were and she nervously fiddled with the piece of chalk in her hands. Malfoy's face was a bit flushed, but he retained his composure otherwise. He opened his mouth to speak but the 10:30 bell rang at this precise moment, and Hermione victoriously stomped out the classroom with the last word.

As she walked towards her next class, Transfiguration, she increasingly regretted her outburst. She didn't know why she did it. Usually, she was very calm and collected in these matters, and always used the "ignore" strategy for dealing with bullies. But Malfoy...something about his unusually foul temper this year pissed her off undescribably. Malfoy would surely spread some twisted story where he emphasized his own witty remarks and Lavender Brown would shriek about how Hermione actually had a sexual orientation. Hermione's neck and back developed a thin layer of cold sweat as she thought of what Ron would say. He was, after all, in her next class.

She slowly and deliberately walked into the Transfiguration classroom, some people staring at her oddly, but Harry and Ron seemed normal enough.

"You know, Hermione, Quidditch trials are next week. You should come watch me and Harry!" Ron said excitedly. Hermione smiled thinly. Quidditch held no strong interest for her, and her best friends never got the hint after seven years.

Professor McGonagall was giving an introduction on human transfiguration when Hermione heard a dreadfully familiar snicker. She realized with a considerable degree of horror that Malfoy was also in N.E.W.T. Transfiguration, and that he was sitting behind her again. Determined, she stared defiantly ahead at the blackboard. He better not say anything stupid, or she might burst. Ron shifted uncomfortably beside her and focused his attention forward also.

Harry turned around and whispered defensively, "What's so funny, Malfoy?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask Weasley? He was the one trying to feel Granger up."

Needless to say, both Ron and Hermione turned beet red and solemnly faced the front as if their lives depended on it. She wanted him to move forward, but not that much! They haven't kissed, or even properly hugged for that matter.

"Miranda Goshawk!" Hermione squealed suddenly. McGonagall had chosen her to answer her question, which she almost forgot to do.

The rest of Transfiguration went similarly, with Hermione dazed and flustered. She felt light-headed as she headed down to lunch with Ron and Harry. _I honestly don't think I learned anything today_, she thought despairingly. Ron was extremely red, even for him, and he was exceedingly polite to everyone for some reason.

"Um, you guys go on. I need to use the bathroom," said Hermione weakly, and she darted into the nearest girls' loo on her right.

The face in the reflection looked alien to her; too red, too sheepish, too girlish. She quickly splashed some cold water over her cheeks and closed her eyes. Her first day of class was going horribly. It was all Malfoy's fault, too, the slimy Slytherin he was. A stall suddenly opened behind her, and she gave a start.

Pansy Parkinson stopped in her tracks when she saw Hermione and grinned impishly. She looked remarkably like a baboon's backside. "Granger, coming here to _wank_ off?" she said, breaking into hysterics.

"Get out, you pug-faced bitch," Hermione breathed poisonously.

"Or what? You'll electrify me with your hair static?"

She would have slapped Pansy silly if she hadn't exited the bathroom when she did. Hermione leaned her head on the cold stone in the hallway leading to the Great Hall, analyzing what Pansy had said. If she knew, then she probably broadcasted Malfoy's version of the events to half the school already. Hermione knew from experience that Pansy's mouth was equatable to a microphone. She set off towards lunch at a brisk pace.

The hall was buzzing when she got there, but there wasn't much out of the ordinary. Malfoy and his crew were roaring with laughter about something Hermione had a sneaking suspicion she knew about. She found Ron and Harry and quickly camouflaged herself at the Gryffindor table by sitting in between Ron and Seamus Finnigan, scrunching her head as close as she could to her chest. There was an odd quietness surrounding her and it made her dread the worst.

"So, Hermione, what happened in Ancient Runes?" asked Seamus.

Hermione felt very hot suddenly, started fanning herself, and grabbed for corn bread with the other hand. "Whatever do you mean?"

No one said anything. Harry coughed in an attempt to break the silence, but his efforts were wasted. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil stared at her and Ron fidgeted with his sandwich. Hermione cursed the heavens for making her late to lunch, knowing that Lavender probably already told some tweaked version of the events to the table. She was almost as bad as Pansy. Suddenly, Ron opened his mouth to speak.

"I never knew you were so..." said Ron. He paused and finished with "Yeah." He cleared this throat and spoke again.

"And about Malfoy too. You know...you should have said something. You...you didn't have to lead me on."

"Ron!" cried Hermione incredulously. She couldn't believe this was happening. "What are you talking about? I - I was defending myself! Do you have any idea what nasty things he said? And...and I never...led you on!"

He looked coldly angry and refused to meet her eyes. "Lavender said what he said was true."

Hermione gaped at him, her mouth slightly open. "You trust _her_ more than me?"

"Well, Hermione, you've been pretty fickle in the past. I wouldn't put Malfoy past you, if you could fancy McLaggen or Diggory or _Krum_..." he said flatly, mumbling off into nothingness. A low murmur passed through the audience, but of course no one stood up for Hermione. Almost everyone indefinitely preferred Ron over her in any situation whether it was reasonable to do so or not. Her heart felt like a block of lead weighing down her chest, heavy and slow.

"I have not," she cried. "You're always the immature one. Just because other boys notice me, and I sometimes notice them, doesn't mean I'm _fickle_. You know what youre problem is, Ron? You don't trust anyone. You think everyone's out to get you. You're too possessive and jealous, and we're not even together! You're too -"

"Hermione, I think you should stop," interrupted Harry quietly. She was outraged; even Harry was going against her, but she couldn't admit that she was surprised.

Dean Thomas looked uncomfortably from Ron to Hermione, then directed his gaze to Ron. "Come on Ron, you don't think that Hermione could really fancy Malfoy? He's a goddamn Slytherin, for Merlin's sakes. He hates Muggle-borns." A louder murmur broke out after this statement.

"You know, Draco Malfoy's rather good-looking, Slytherin or not," Lavender piped up. To Hermione's surprise, a few lower-year girls nodded in agreement and Parvati Patil blushed furiously. Hermione suddenly hated Lavender, more than before, for having the nerve to break what little Hermioned had with Ron and then make such a disgusting reference to Malfoy.

Now the heat left her body completely and all she could feel was a cold current running through her veins. She turned to look at Lavender, who looked back at her haughtily. Her eyes swiveled from Ron to Lavender and back several times before something clicked in her brain, and she suddenly had a strong desire to claw Lavender's eyes out. Anger came, and it made her cold blood turn boiling hot. Lavender was a complete whore and Ron was imbecilic enough to believe every single piece of shit he heard, everything except the truth. Anger made her eyes dry and heart hard and tongue sharp.

"Well, if Lavender said so, it _must_ be true then! How silly of me to argue. You should go hook up with her again, _Won - Won_," said Hermione in her nastiest voice. "She is such a virginal angel compared to one so dirty as me."

With a sonorous clanking noise, she slammed her silverware on her plate and stuffed the remaining corn bread in her mouth. It tasted like paper. She gathered her books and stormed out of the cafeteria immediately, and only then did the tears come.

She cried silently all the way to the Gryffindor common room, where she collapsed on her bed in the empty dormitory. Ron was an idiot. She couldn't believe how easily he believed that slut. He always thought Hermione enjoyed toying with his heart, being a flirt, stringing him along. But it was far from the truth. He was the one sending mixed signals and being stupid and moody and getting angry.

Hermione lay prostrate on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, for what seemed like hours. Lavender never came back to the dorm, fortunately for her, since Hermione believed she could have sent canaries on her like she did to Ron the previous year. When she finally checked the time, lunch was over and she only had five minutes to get to Potions.

"Dammit..." she grumbled to herself.

She gathered the books that spilled out her bag and forced her heavy body to get off the bed. With a sense of dread, she remembered that Ron, Harry, Lavender, and Malfoy were all in N.E.W.T. Potions. She cursed again and sprinted out the Gryffindor common room toward the dungeons.

The hallways were thinning out with last-minute stragglers rushing to their classes, Hermione included. Her feet stopped past the dungeon doorway right as the bell sounded distantly. Severus Snape, who had been demoted back to potions master, looked as crabby and slimy as ever as he glared at Hermione and said the words she was expecting: "Ten points from Gryffindor for being late, Miss Granger."

"I wasn't late, Professor," she said, knowing she was fighting a losing battle.

"I don't believe you were in your seat, Miss Granger."

She sighed inwardly and searched for an inconspicuous seat. Apparently, they were sharing cauldrons today and of course there were no seats saved for her. Ron's limbs seemed purposely sprawled around his cauldron so as to appear there was no room for another except Harry. Parvati and Lavender glared at Hermione, challenging her to approach them. In fact, everyone had at least one partner except Malfoy, and she didn't want to even think about sitting next to him for an hour and a half.

Snape seemed to read her mind...which he probably was, the Legilimens jerk. He smirked and said, "I see that there aren't any empty chairs except for the one by Draco. Why don't you sit there today?"

The whole class began buzzing quietly as Hermione reluctantly sat herself in the hard wooden chair next to Malfoy. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, but didn't complain to Snape in any other way. She felt like crying or throwing a fit. She barely paid attention when Snape silently wrote the instructions on the grimy blackboard. She didn't notice Malfoy watching her with a sideways glance, sneering.

"Granger! Snap out of it, Mudblood. I'm not failing my first Potions grade because of you." He snapped his fingers in front of her face.

"Shut up," said Hermione coldly, but returning from her trance. "I've had enough of your crap today without you _bitching_ at me." Pushing her thoughts out of her mind, she speed-read the notes on the board, pulled out ingredients from her apothecary kit, and began grounding up a dragon tooth with furious speed.

"You're supposed to add the dried gillyweed first! I honestly have no idea why people think you're the most brilliant witch in the school." Malfoy suddenly snatched the mortar and pestle from Hermione with one hand and added the gillyweed into the cauldron of bubbling water. It turned a dark moss green color and began to give off copious amounts of yellow steam while emitting a rotting stench comparable to Goyle's breath. Hermione was a bit shocked, because Malfoy had been right. The gillyweed was supposed to go in _right_ before the water started boiling. And it had been boiling for about two minutes now. Half the class stopped what it was doing and stared at the Malfoy-Granger cauldron that was giving off such pungent odors and lovely smoke.

"Well, I hope you're happy, Granger. The potion is complete screwed up," Malfoy said after observing the gurgling contents. He gave her his most contentious scowl and leaned back on his stool.

Ignoring this statement, Hermione adjusted the fire under the cauldron to make the temperature slightly lower. The potion slowly turned into a very pale blue color and stopped steaming, and she couldn't help but laugh with relief. Once the potion turned almost back to clear, she jabbed her wand at the fire, making it gradually hotter.

"Holy mother of Merlin," she heard Neville Longbottom whisper to his partner. "Should we ask her for help? Our potion looks like dragon dung."

Despite everything that had happened that day, Hermione couldn't help but smile a little. Knowing that she was the best student in the class gave her an immense satisfaction. She noticed that Ron's face was turning purple with concentration and Harry was frantically adding fresh gillyweed instead of the dried, which would undoubtedly turn the potion into a poison. Of course they were struggling without her "assistance," in other words Hermione doing all the work.

"Little know-it-all," Malfoy said under his breath. Hermione always took that title as a compliment, and she was still smiling to herself when she added a pint of bubotuber pus.


	3. A Second First Impression

**Thank you for the lovely reviews! I really do appreciate them. Here we go again...(Sorry for the wait! )  
**

**_Chapter 3: A Second First Impression  
_**

After the excruciating Potions class, Hermione felt absolutely exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to snuggle in her soft bed and sleep her troubles away. When she entered the girls' dormitory, she nearly stepped right back out, seeing as Lavender and Parvati were sitting on Parvati's mattress and gossiping.

They abruptly stopped and stared at Hermione. Lavender squinted at her in a challenging sort of way, her chin pointing up. Her arms were crossed over her magically-enhanced boobs and her legs were crossed under her magically-shortened skirt.

"Hello Lavender. Hello Parvati," sniffed Hermione.

"_Hey_ Hermione!" returned Lavender, a bit too pleasantly.

At that moment, Hermione knew that she wouldn't be able to live in the same room as her. She had barely tolerated it in her sixth year when Lavender and Ron were dating; a second time would drive her to insanity. The constant discussions about Ron, his physical appearance, his kissing abilities, his feelings . . . she wanted to scream already.

"Well, I'm just here to pack up my stuff. Professor McGonagall recommends that I move to the Heads' dormitory."

It was the first excuse she thought of, and she immediately began to dump her clothes into her traveling trunk, a fake smile plastered on her face. Perhaps moving was the best thing to do, she thought. It would let her be away from Ron, Harry, Lavender, and all the people that reminded her of the lunch scene. The more Hermione thought of it, the better the idea seemed. She moved faster, piling her books on top her clothes, and searched for her bathroom necessities.

Lavender and Parvati followed Hermione's movements with their eyes and decided she wasn't joking. They were silent as she closed the metal clasps of her trunk and hauled it off the floor with a small grunt.

"Goodbye!" Hermione said cheerily, with a cheesy hand wave. As soon as she stepped out of the girls' dorm, she broke into a sprint and dashed down the stairs, through the Fat Lady portrait, and down the seventh floor corridor.

When she reached the stairs, she suddenly stopped.

"Where the fuck _are_ the Heads' dorms?" she cursed to herself. She dropped the trunk on the stone floor, opened the clasps, and rummaged through her papers, searching for her information letter. _Dammit, dammit, dammit_, she swore silently. Finally, her hands touched the smooth, crisp, thick cardstock. She whipped it out and skimmed through it until she found her information.

_. . . The Heads' dormitory is located on the 7th floor of the West Tower. Each Head has his or her private bedroom and bathroom, but they will share a study room and dining area . . ._

_Each Head . . . _horrified, Hermione re-read the sentence over and over again. She completely forgot that Malfoy was Head Boy. Moving to the Heads' dormitory would be simply transferring from one hell to another.

"Maybe Malfoy's staying in the Slytherin dorms." She actually said the words out loud to ease her panic. She debated within herself, and decided Malfoy was actually the lesser of the two evils. Yes, Malfoy never reminded her of Ron's hurtful words, or the stupid obsequious friend that Harry was.

Hermione gathered up her things, tucking the parchment letter into her robes pocket, and headed towards the West Tower, which was on the complete opposite end of the school. Most of the students were in the Great Hall having dinner, so the hallways were mercifully empty for Hermione to walk through. She finally came across the unfamiliar archway leading into the West Tower. To her surprise, the only room on the entire floor was the Head's dormitory. The door was a huge, ornate golden specimen, with gold knockers the size of dinner plates. Every square inch of the door was covered in carvings of the four Hogwarts mascots, in different poses - sleeping, jumping, sitting, running, and so on. Uncertain, Hermione banged the door with a knocker on the right and waited for some magical password system to come up.

A neutral-sounding female voice spoke up. "Good day. Password, please?"

Hermione referred to her letter and answered back, "Cornish hen." No doubt Dumbledore came up with it.

Instead of opening, the door disappeared completely, and it reappeared when Hermione stepped through the empty space. The common area of the dormitory was lusciously decorated, as she predicted, with squashy armchairs similar to those in the Gryffindor common room and pretty cherry wood flooring and furniture. She turned to her right and faced a large wooden door that displayed the sign "Head Girl - reserved for HERMIONE GRANGER."

Hermione dragged her trunk into her new room, which was just as elegant as the common area, and magicked her clothes into her new dresser and her toiletries into the bathroom. It wouldn't be so bad here. She could avoid Malfoy altogether if she left earlier in the morning and returned earlier in the evening. She could have dinner in the dining area while Malfoy ate with his friends. She could stay in her own room if Malfoy wanted to wander around. And that was only if he was staying in the Heads' dorm, which she sincerely hoped he wasn't.

Her fears were suddenly confirmed when she heard a sneeze from the common area. _Oh fuck_.

Tiptoe-ing, she opened her door and peeked out the microscopic crack she created, and choked on a scream. Malfoy was indeed there. He wandered around the room, apparently looking for something. He had taken off his black robes and sweater, wearing only his white collared shirt, with his tie undone, and pleated trousers. Hermione couldn't help but think how sloppy he looked, when she had other much more important things to worry about.

Malfoy suddenly turned around, startled by the noise of Hermione's suppressed shriek.

"Who's there?" he called towards her door, his voice containing an edge of panic.

Hermione gulped. It was now or never. She pulled her door all the way back and stared at a shocked Malfoy with a hard expression.

"I'm living here now, whether you like it or not," she said with her head raised high.

They gaped at each other for a few seconds, when Malfoy finally said, "What about your _own_ crappy dormitory?"

"Well . . . _this_ is my crappy dormitory now."

"I was here first."

Hermione's eye twitched. "What about _your_ Slytherin dorm?"

"I preferred the idea of living _alone_," he replied, snarling the last word.

"Well too bad!" she growled back. "It's not like we'll have to interact. Just . . . leave me alone and I'll leave you alone!"

Malfoy sighed impatiently and rolled his eyes. "Fine, Granger. Just don't get your Mudblood arse in my way."

Hermione tilted her head, giving him a tight-lipped and squinty-eyed smile, before slamming her door. That actually didn't go as bad as she thought, her imagined scenario having involved several nasty hexes and going to the hospital wing. Relieved, she flopped on her bed and began to do her homework enthusiastically.

* * *

Blood was pounding in Draco's head.

He felt sickened. A Mudblood living in the same place as him, a Malfoy! Actually, these thoughts were automatic, since he really didn't care about all that pure blood shit, especially if it meant a betrothal to Pansy. In fact, he didn't care about anything much anymore. That made everything easier.

But Granger stirred something in him. Perhaps it was the seven-year-long rivalry, or her snippety attitude, or the way she glared at him with hatred. Whatever it was, it made him feel small and emotional and stupid all at the same time. He despised all those feelings, and he despised Granger for making him feel them.

Draco grimaced to himself, and went on all fours to look under the couch for his necklace. He personally thought that the silver chain was stupid, but it was a Malfoy family heirloom that his father forced him to wear when he turned seventeen a year ago. Lucius would not appreciate it if it went missing. Apparently it was goblin-made and made the wearer better-looking or something. Which of course was unnecessary, given that Draco thought himself rather dashing.

He saw the chain glinting brightly around the leg of the couch. It must've fallen when he had taken a nap there the day before. He reluctantly snaked the chain around his neck, quickly hiding it under his shirt. The last thing he needed was Crabbe and Goyle snickering at him for wearing jewelry. Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Nott, Pansy . . . the names sounded like something from his far past, when his only goal had been to annoy Potter and his Gryffindor friends. Draco had wanted to get away from the sheer Slytherin-ness of it all this year, but now Granger just _had_ to come live across the hall and remind him of everything.

_Damn bitch_, he thought.

"Well!"

He almost screamed in surprise; did Granger know Legilimency or something? She had thrown open her door, and now she was glaring at him.

"What do you want?" Draco groaned.

"I don't have a desk in my room," Granger snapped. "I've poked about a thousand holes in my essay writing it on the bed."

"And I care why?"

"So . . . I'll be doing my homework out here. Where you can see my 'Mudblood arse.' If it bothers you, you can go in _your_ room."

"The day I listen to you will be when hell freezes over."

Her eyebrows raised. "Fine, then don't gripe at me for being in your line of vision." She dragged her book bag out of her room and hauled it onto the table near the fireplace. With a flourish, she dipped her quill into her ink bottle and began to copy her hole-ridden essay onto a fresh piece of parchment.

Granger's presence actually didn't bother Draco very much. To prove that he didn't care, he took out his books and parchment and began to write his essay also. He wrote vigorously, never stopping, almost competing with Granger to see who would finish first with the longest paper. Both of them worked diligently for almost two hours, until Granger finally put down her quill and smoothed out her parchment. Draco looked up and cursed to himself. Her essay was easily two feet at least, but his barely reached sixteen inches, and he had only been proofreading for the past fifteen minutes.

She turned and saw him giving her the evil eye. "What?" she asked suspiciously.

Clearly, she was not aware of the competition.

"Shut up, I'm proofreading," he grumbled.

Suddenly her eyes brightened and she smiled. It was weird; Draco had never seen a Gryffindor smile when he was in the vicinity.

"Really?" Granger squealed. "Is it the Tranfiguration one? I think my essay was one of my personal best. I was a bit stumped at how to explain the difference between transforming living things into other living things and transforming living things into non-living things, but I think I did alright . . . " She was talking to herself more than Draco.

She had walked over and taken the liberty to see his essay. Draco protested a bit when she snatched it out of his hands, but she ignored him and began to psychoanalyze every sentence.

"Did I _ask_ for you help?" he said indignantly.

He tried wrestling his essay back from Granger's hands, but she had an iron grip on it. He was afraid of ripping it (and remembered where the bruise under his eye came from) so in the end he gave up and leaned back on the couch with his legs and arms crossed.

She hummed as her eyes darted from left to right repeatedly. "Oh, here you spelled 'apocryphal' wrong . . . although I'm surprised you knew what it meant, they don't teach English at Hogwarts . . . That's false there, it _is_ possible to transfigure life-like qualities into an inanimate object, Professor McGonagall does it all the time." Draco ignored her. After a minute or so, she finished and made a few marks with her quill. She looked up at Draco with a curious expression on her face.

"You know, Malfoy, this is pretty good. I mean, it's better than most of Harry's stuff and loads better than anything Ron ever - " Her voice suddenly faltered, but she quickly shook her head and continued. "I just think that your conclusion should have more information in it from the second paragraph, and change what I just told you about . . . " She trailed off into nothingness, handing back the paper to Draco.

"Hmph. I'm not an idiot like your little friends. I get fine marks without using anyone as a bitch."

"I'm sure," Granger drawled. Something in her voice reminded him of his own, and he couldn't help but smirk at the irony. The Mudblood imitating his tone . . . this was such a farce.

She didn't see him since she had returned to the table behind the couch. Just when Draco thought they were done interacting, she spoke up again, her tone thoughtful.

"Malfoy, do you know who's the second best wizard in our year? I just wondered that right now. I know I've been first all these years, but I never thought about what people were below me."

Draco snorted quietly. "It's me, of course. Did you think it was Potter, or better yet, _Weasel_?"

"Really?" She sounded a bit surprised. "Who's under you?"

_Your mom_, he thought automatically, chuckling to himself. However, he answered, "Finch-Fletchley. The Hufflepuff."

"Justin? That's more understandable than you. So who's fourth?"

"Um . . . whatsherface . . . Hannah Abbott."

"And fifth?"

"Goldstein. Don't ask more, because I have no idea about anyone below the top five."

Granger nodded, said "Thanks," and stared out the window. After a moment, she took out her Potions textbook and a fresh piece of parchment, and began another essay. Draco waited uncomfortably to see if she would burst out in speech again, but she didn't so he relaxed.

_Well, that was weird_, thought Draco as he began correcting his Transfiguration essay.

* * *

_That was . . . interesting_, thought Hermione as she started her Potions essay. She would never have guessed that Malfoy was number two in the seventh year if she hadn't seen his essay for herself. It was all very strange. How was _Malfoy_ smarter than Harry, and even Justin and Anthony Goldstein? Why, then, did he socialize with two dolts like Crabbe and Goyle?

Her insides twisted a little. He might have thought the same thing of her. After all, Ron and Harry weren't exactly the two brightest students either. She viciously told herself that Harry had street smarts at least, while Ron was simply stupid. Her inner rampage made her feel a little better, though a small voice of conscience screamed at her mutinous thoughts.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy vacuuming up some ink with his wand and rewriting the sentence with a pretty dove quill. So he actually took her advice and knew how to correct his mistakes. With another gush of rage, she remembered how she had to erase the ink and change the words of Ron's essays since he had no idea how to do either task.

If they treated each other only as well as the last few hours, Hermione believed she could live here, live happily enough. She thought of how peaceful it was, just them two sitting there and doing their homework. Hell, they could become good acquaintances, even friends. After another hour, she yawned, stretched, and rolled up her finished essay. Malfoy was checking his. Again, Hermione was surprised at how long the parchment was. She thought _she _was the only one who would ever write more inches than the requirement.

Suddenly, she spied the clock on the opposite wall.

"Oh my god! It's already seven thirty!" she cried. It would take at least ten minutes to power-walk to the Great Hall, and dinner would be almost over by then. Anyway, she didn't really want to go - it would mean seeing Ron and Harry.

Malfoy grunted. "I guess."

"Why didn't you eat with Crabbe and Goyle?" Hermione asked, suddenly curious and slightly suspicious.

"Just never noticed the time," he replied drily, wiping ink off his quill. He glanced at her in a suspicious manner also. "Aren't you pissed at missing your precious meal with Potter and Weasley?"

"No, not really." Her voice had a vicious edge that made him not seem to want to question her.

She thought for a second, biting her lip. "I'll just get the food here." She realized that she had been sitting at the dining table, so she turned her head and said to no one in particular, "Could I have my dinner here, please?" With any luck, the house elves would be able to hear her and send the dishes up.

In about five seconds, several bowls of food appeared along with two dinner plates and two sets of silverware, already arranged perfectly on opposite ends of the table. Hermione saw roast chicken, mashed potatoes, broccoli, tomato soup, and a basket of assorted rolls. Her mouth watered and her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she had skipped most of lunch. She was about to grab the soup bowl, but Malfoy had appeared out of nowhere and taken it for himself, dumping almost all of it into his personal bowl.

"Hey!" she screamed at him. "I didn't eat lunch, my stomach is about to shrivel up, and I - LOVE - HOGWARTS'S - TOMATO - SOUP - GODDAMMIT!" She grabbed a roll and waved it threateningly in Malfoy's face. The soup really was delicious and she had waited all summer to taste it again. Her stomach growled in agreement.

Malfoy stared at her, bug-eyed. They looked at each other for a moment, then Malfoy suddenly and quickly slurped up all his soup while keeping his gaze on Hermione. He was challenging her; she threw the roll at his face in petty anger. To her supreme shock, he caught it in his mouth and sank his teeth into the dough, snarling at her with the roll still between his incisors. Hermione had never, ever in her seventeen-year life seen anything as strange or ridiculous as what Malfoy just did. She began to laugh, starting with a few cough-like sounds, and soon ended up in her chair in hysterics. Her fists pounded the table as she gasped for breath.

When she finally looked back up, the bread was gone.

"Where did the roll go?"

"I thought it would be quite obvious that I ate it."

Hermione paused, imagined Malfoy scarfing down the roll like an animal without using his hands, and burst into fresh peals of laughter. She literally rolled onto the floor, roaring and clutching her stomach.

"That - was - so - _weird_!" she screamed between giggles.

"_I'm_ weird?!" Malfoy yelled. "Look at you! Wiggling on the ground like some disgusting worm! Stop it! STOP - LAUGHING!"

And in an aristocratic fit, he took a roll from the basket and chucked it at her head. This only aggravated Hermione's condition, who managed to choke out: "_I _can't catch food in my mouth!" before she started giggling again.

"Mudbloods," Malfoy muttered. He chose to ignore Hermione and instead started on the rest of his dinner.

After a few minutes or so, Hermione managed to calm herself down. She bit her lip to stop giggles from escaping before she raised herself off the floor and sat on the chair opposite an eating Malfoy.

"Um, sorry for punching you on the train," she burst out. "I'm sure Madam Pomfrey could fix that bruise up in an instant." As she watched him eat, she remembered the roll and fought to keep her face straight.

"Mmm," grumbled Malfoy in reply.

Hermione scooped herself some mashed potatoes, thinking about how she was grateful for Malfoy for the first time in her life. Oh, the irony.


	4. Abnormalities

**Thank you for the reviews again! Yes, I know the last chapter exhibited a little too much OOC-ness for a "realistic unrealistic" situation . . . but I thought it was quite amusing, so oh well . . . lol. Everyone should be back to character more this time. Sorry for the usual _huge_ delay. I had to rewrite the whole chapter since my first draft did not work AT ALL with my planned storyline. Also, school's started so I could only write in my tiny pockets of spare time. ANYWAY, forget my rambling and excuses and enjoy the chapter.  
**

_**  
Chapter 4: Abnormalities  
**_

Hermione woke with a start the next morning. Her dreams had been riddled with broken, meaningless images of Ron, Lavender, and Draco Malfoy swarming around in a haze. She clenched her teeth as she thought of last night after dinner when she had sat down on the couch, double checking her essays, and Malfoy had viciously barked at her to get her "vile Mudblood arse" off _his_ sofa. This outburst had resulted in a heated response from Hermione ("This is not _your _couch only, you ferrety _bastard_!") and a long, pointless verbal war that lasted for almost half an hour. Hermione had stomped to her room, furious, reconsidering her decision to live in such close proximity to a prat like Malfoy.

She yawned and slid reluctantly out of her comfortable bed, burrowing her feet into her slippers. The sun shone particularly brightly for that early in the day, as if it was mocking Hermione's misery, slapping its rays in her face. She squinted at her old-fashioned alarm clock. 8:46 precisely. Her stomach plummeted to somewhere near her slippered feet.

"Son of a BITCH!" Hermione screamed. She scrambled into her bathroom, almost tripped into her pool-size bath tub, and brushed her teeth with a speed she never knew she possessed. There wasn't time to work through all the tangles in her hair or cleanse her face. She pulled her Hogwarts sweater over her pajama top, dragged up her skirt, and yanked on her stockings. Through the corner of her eye, she saw her reflection in a mirror. It was not pretty.

When she was finally done dressing, she dashed out of the dormitory with a small glance at the grandfather clock in the corner. 8:54.

_Shit_. She was _not_ going to be late two classes in a row. She had a reputation and a title to uphold! She was Head Girl! She could not be late AGAIN. _No, no, no_.

She ran as fast as she could to the Charms classroom, silently cursing her non-athletic legs. The bell rang before she arrived, but thankfully the class was chaotic as usual, Professor Flitwick nowhere in sight. Harry looked in her direction, seeming a bit stressed, and they made eye contact. Her stomach twisted when she saw Ron and Lavender sucking face.

"Hermione - " Harry began as she walked past him.

"I think I'll sit there today," Hermione said loudly to no one in particular, marching to a seat near the other side of the classroom.

Two minutes passed until Flitwick finally arrived holding a large stack of papers. Hermione knew from experience that he wouldn't be able to calm the class down for another ten minutes, so she sat quietly and rigidly in her seat, waiting. She suddenly heard an increasingly familiar, drawling voice.

"God, Granger . . . wild night? Don't know anyone except Weasley who'd fuck a Mudblood though."

She snapped her head and came face to face with Malfoy. _This is just lovely_, she thought tiredly. He was eyeing her disheveled hair and pajama collar poking out of her sweater, a pale eyebrow raised. He was sitting on his desk, hands resting on his knees and a leg propped up on Hermione's desk.

"Oh, you're _hilarious_," she said airily. "You should be a comedian. For your information, I woke up exactly twenty minutes ago, spent only eight minutes getting ready, and literally had to _run_ to class. And now I'm sitting next to you. You!" She laughed humorlessy, then suddenly narrowed her eyes. "Did you tamper with my alarm clock, perchance?"

"Oh definitely, because I love sneaking around a your room and messing with your belongings. And by the way, I stole your cat. And took your virginity while you were sleeping."

"Har har. And you don't know if I'm a virgin or not!" she challenged, a flush rising in her cheeks. How come every time she spoke to Malfoy, it came to something sexual?

"Hm. I can guess. Unless you shagged Weasley? A weasel and a Mudblood. Perfect couple, I'll say."

His words stung. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes as she thought how she and Ron were the farthest from being a couple at that moment.

"No. If you hadn't noticed, Ron and Lavender Brown are going out now," she replied softly.

Malfoy looked over Hermione's head. His expression changed from one of curiosity to one of disgust.

"Ah, Weasley and Brown again? That was nasty enough the first time." He studied her face, fighting a smirk. "Are you . . ._ crying_?"

"Please shut up, and _go away_," Hermione gritted out, her temper on borderline. She hastily swiped her eyes dry with a lame attempt at passing it as scratching her nose. Malfoy goading her in her time of despair was beyond unnecessary. At this point, he was practically begging her to hex his arse off.

"Awww . . . poor little Mudblood! Lovelesss!" Malfoy gasped dramatically, pouting.

BAM!

For the third time, her fist collided with Malfoy's nose. She snapped. It was simply too much. She remembered how it was all his fault in the first place for causing her to be in such a ridiculous situation, his fault that her year was starting in shambles, his fault for everything. The same strange euphoria from attacking him the day before returned again as she watched him stagger backward, his hands over his face. His expression was blank for a second, then was clouded with shock.

"What is _wrong_ with you, woman?" he yelped. Somehow, Hermione got even angrier at those words.

"What is wrong with _you?_ You sadistic, heartless son of a _bitch_!" she screamed back. She lifted her wand and was about to curse Malfoy to oblivion when Pansy Parkinson suddenly leaped in between them from out of nowhere.

"Get out of the way, _Parkinson_," growled Hermione, spitting the last word and searching for a spot on Malfoy's body that wasn't covered by Pansy.

"You're not going to hurt Draco!" Pansy shrieked. "I'm telling Professor Flitwick!" She clung onto Malfoy's neck, but he impatiently shook her off.

"Get lost, Pansy," he snapped.

"But Draco - "

"Shut up," he said coldly. He glared at Hermione, then turned around and sat at his desk, covering his battered face with his hand.

"Whatcha looking at?" Hermione snarled.

"Merlin, someone must've shoved that stick farther up your arse," he muttered.

"I'll shove _this _stick up your arse if you don't fucking leave me alone," she threatened viciously, stabbing the air in front of Malfoy with her wand for added emphasis.

"Do you see me bothering you at this moment? I would say you're bothering me more than I'm bothering you."

"Your _presence_ bothers me."

"Bitch. Stupid Mudblood."

With that, they ignored each other for the rest of class. Hermione marched out of the room quickly after the bell rang, and she saw Harry and Ron looking between her and Malfoy incredulously.

The rest of the day went similarly. She ate lunch alone in the Heads' dorms, quite thankful that she didn't have to endure the sympathetic gazes of her fellow Gryffindors. In Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts, she again sat as far away as she could from the dynamic duo of Ron and Lavender, which was of course near the Slytherin corner. And next to Malfoy. Every time they had made eye contact it resulted in a glaring contest.

After classes finally finished for the day, both of them arrived around the same time to the dorms, and Hermione plopped onto the loveseat, wondering what to do, and Malfoy sat on his figurative throne - the bigger sofa. Since there wasn't homework, she decided to read _Hogwarts, A History_ for fun. Malfoy worked on a Potions essay, mumbling under his breath and scratching out sentences. Like in class, they sometimes looked at each other, and every glance he gave her turned into a sneer.

"Stop _looking_ at me, you git," Hermione finally said out of irritation, after about the tenth glare.

"I could say the same, Granger. Is it that hard to keep yourself from undressing me with your eyes?" He waggled his eyebrows saucily.

"Argh!" growled Hermione, pulling at her unkempt hair. "Stop alluding to sexual . . . things! How can you possibly even _joke_ about that? Don't I, I dunno, _disgust_ you?"

Malfoy sniffed, an effeminate gesture in Hermione's opinion. "Well, I have to get revenge somehow for those punches, and it's against my pride to hit a woman, no matter how lowly or gross."

"So . . . you insult me. I'm honored."

"Yep." He paused, then added, "Bitch."

"Real mature," drawled Hermione.

"Yeah, anyway. I forget the last ingredient of the antidote for love potions. Tell me, again."

This statement was so off from the rest of the conversation, or rather argument, that Hermione drew back in surprise. She told him and he made a note on his parchment.

"Thanks," he said easily.

"You're, uh, welcome," she said stupidly.

They sat in silence. She noticed that slightly purplish blotches had appeared across Malfoy's nose. He looked rather like he had been mugged recently. By Hermione.

"Um, sorry for punching you . . . " Hermione said, clearing her throat and feeling suddenly guilty. "Maybe - maybe . . . you should see Madam Pomfrey for that . . . " She trailed off into nothingness.

He glanced at her curiously, but she stared determinedly at page four hundred and seven of _Howarts, A History_. There was a long silence where neither of them said anything, but finally Malfoy spoke.

"Well, Granger, I am quite surprised," he said softly. "I suppose I'll apologize also. My, er, comments seemed to have put you in a predicament. Weasley was sort of your boyfriend, wasn't he?"

Hermione whipped her head up in shock. Her apologizing was one thing, but Malfoy reciprocating the action? The world must have ended, pigs must be flying, hell must have frozen over, or she was simply hallucinating. Draco Malfoy apologized to Hermione Granger. Those words were never supposed to be in one sentence, in that order.

"Are you alright, Draco?" she asked slowly in a concerned voice, enunciating every syllable. "Do you feel well?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, and his lip curled downward. "Other than the bruises on my face, you mean? I feel positively dandy."

That made Hermione feel more guilty. She was not a violent person by nature, and the purple marks defied everything she stood for, even if they were on the person she hated second most (next to Pansy Parkinson).

"Here, let me heal it then," she insisted, holding up her wand.

"Ugh! Get away from me!" squealed Malfoy as she drew closer.

"Don't be such a pussy," Hermioned said. "_Episkey_."

He grimaced as the spell did its job and the bruises quickly disappeared. He felt his nose tenderly afterwards, poking and prodding it with varying degrees of pressure.

"I thought you were going to curse me, for a moment there," he said with relief.

"You thought wrong then."

They looked at each other for a short moment. In that one look, a thousand things and nothing happened at the same time. She felt a sudden change in the atmosphere; somehow less hostility and perhaps more understanding? She couldn't quite place it. He seemed to detect something as well, since he knitted his eyebrows together in a confused expression. Whatever it was, it was positive.

Hermione went to bed later that night, once again feeling optimistic that she could maybe become friends with Draco Malfoy.

The next morning, Hermione woke up as soon as her five o'clock alarm sounded, not wanting to be late again. Immediately after she stepped out her door, she saw Malfoy, dressed in a ridiculous Hugh Hefner-esque silk bathrobe, stepping out of his bedroom also.

"Oh, Granger, it's you," he said, yawning. "Morning."

"Good morning, Malfoy," she replied hesitantly, trying to stifle a giggle. Then she asked curiously, "Why are you up so early?"

"I'm gonna practice some Quidditch," he grumbled sleepily. "I'm a bit sick of Potter winning all the time, you know? He's not even that great."

"Hmph," Hermione said with a hint of pride in her voice. "You never win against Harry, so what's the point?"

"Shut up. Stop putting me down."

She chuckled at his childish retort. "The truth hurts, doesn't it?"

"You're a bitch," Malfoy said.

"So are you. Nice robe, by the way."

After a pout and a glare, he changed into Quidditch clothes and left, and Hermione somehow ate breakfast with a ridiculous smile on her face.

The week passed surprisingly quickly as an uncharacteristic blistering heat spell fell over Hogwarts. It was scorching in the classrooms and all the students moved with more lethargy than usual, but Hermione hardly noticed. More and more, she found herself talking with Malfoy and actually looking forward to seeing him. Though they still insulted each other, the tone had changed somewhat. It was no longer bitter, but rather playful and amusing. The downside was that everyone's suspicions were even more firmly cemented as they observed Hermione and Malfoy talking, or apparently "flirting." This worried Hermione frequently, but she usually tried to block out all thoughts of other people's opinions.

Once when Hermione was walking to Herbology, Malfoy came up and elbowed her in the back. It didn't hurt, but he laughed maliciously when he saw her confused expression as she turned around.

"Git," she hissed. In a fit of vengeance, she slapped his arm with some force.

"Pathetic, Granger," he said arrogantly, and kicked the backs of her shoes.

"Hey! I paid good money for these shoes!" she cried, and dug her heel into his shin.

"My socks probably cost more than those hideous pieces of goat hide."

"Shut your face or I'll castrate you with a rusty butterknife," threatened Hermione, glaring.

"Why waste your family's best silverware?" She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, I forgot," she said airily. "There's nothing there anyway."

He smirked. "As opposed to you, who does have something there?"

She clenched her teeth and glared daggers at Malfoy. "Sod off, ferret boy." When she turned back around, she grinned to herself, thinking how the argument was actually quite funny. She didn't notice that he was staring at her.

On most days after class, they did homework together. Malfoy sometimes asked her for help _very_ grudgingly, but she was always glad to assist him. He was properly ashamed of ripping answers off another person, unlike most of the Gryffindor seventh years.

"I hate this," he complained one Friday afternoon, almost three weeks after the start of term. "Asking a Muggle-born questions about magic!"

"Blah blah blah . . . how many times do I have to say that I'm just as magical as you are?" snapped Hermione.

"Yeah, whatever," he muttered. He was writing a difficult Charms essay that Hermione finished the day it was assigned, and was not happy to ask for help.

They fell silent afterwards, each working on homework quietly.

"Hey Malfoy?" said Hermione suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"Why have you stopped calling me - " she cleared her throat " - 'Mudblood'?"

"What?" he said stupidly.

"You've stopped calling me that," reiterated Hermione.

He scratched his chin with the end of his quill, looking confused. "I dunno. I suppose I can start again if you miss it that much," he replied, a smirk slowly forming on his lips.

"I'm being serious, Draco."

His expression immediately sobered up at the sound of his first name. "Why 'Draco'? You sound like Snape, or my mother, or _Pansy_. My friends all say 'Malfoy'."

"That's so distant-sounding," said Hermione doubtfully. "Familiar people should refer to each other by their real names, their _first_ names. Like me, Harry, and . . . um, yeah, so you should too."

"Are you implying we're familiar, then?"

"Well, don't you think we're at _some_ level of friendship?" she asked. A brief wave of panic passed over her. What if Malfoy didn't think they were friends at all?

"Er . . . I suppose," he grumbled. "Though my father would whip me and possibly kill you if he found out we were living together," he added blandly.

"We're not _living_ together!" gasped Hermione. "That's . . . bad wording."

"Eh. Don't get your knickers in a bunch." He put his essay aside and leaned back, crossing his legs. "Anyway, back to what you were saying. Does that mean I should call you . . . Hermione?" He gagged on her name, as if he just tasted something very disgusting.

She scowled, and threw a crumpled piece of parchment at his face. It missed. "Don't make it sound like a dirty word," she said critically.

"Well, _Hermione_ - " he began, his eye twitching. "I really, really prefer to say 'Granger', and I would prefer if _you_ said 'Malfoy'."

"Oh, FINE," she said, exasperated. "Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy. Happy with that?"

"Oh yeah, keep screaming my name in ecstasy."

"Ugh, you sick bastard."

"You know you love me."

"Jackass." Smirking playfully, Hermione stood up from her seat and bopped Malfoy on the head with her notebook as she passed him. "We have rounds in ten minutes. Get your arse ready."

She remembered the unusual stifling heat of the castle and imagined herself walking down the halls in an outfit suited for winter. For good measure, she took off her heavy sweater and stockings and threw the articles of clothing over the dining table. When she turned around, she noticed that Malfoy was glancing at her bare legs, an interested expression on his pale face. _Oh my god_, she thought, but she smirked.

"Like what you see, Draco?" she purred, and with impressive flexibility, hitched her right leg up onto the table ostentatiously. Almost immediately, she felt embarrassed and took her leg off.

"Damn, Granger," said Malfoy in a state of awe. "I always thought you didn't shave your legs or something. Why the _hell_ do you wear those prudish knee-high socks?"

"Er, well, I _do_ lilke my modesty, thank you very much," replied Hermione dryly, still flushed from her brief stint of spontaneity. "But it's an oven in this school today, and I don't want to die of a stroke, so that's why you get a little glimpse." She giggled nervously at her daring comment.

"Don't kid yourself," muttered Malfoy, though Hermione saw him peek at her again.

Instead of feeling superior, she felt small and shy, and she quickly bounded out the dorm in front of him so she wouldn't have to see his face. This was a poor choice, since she now had a sneaking suspicion that he was checking out her bum.

They went in separate directions at the first fork, fortunately for Hermione. Professor McGonagall had laid out patrolling plans; Hermione was in charge of the east side of the sixth floor, Malfoy the west side.

"Bye," she said automatically as she turned right.

"Uh-huh," he replied.

She ambled slowly down the hallway, checking her watch. After curfew started, she caught two Ravenclaw third years tip-toeing down the corridor, clearly trying to sneak past Hermione.

"Ten points each from Ravenclaw. Don't give me that pitiful look," she said firmly, ignoring the puppy-dog expressions of the two boys. "Now go along."

They went back in the direction they came from, grumbling. Hermione puffed her chest up in authority, and continued her march down the east hallway, thinking about her bantering with Malfoy, recalling a few particularly witty comments he had made that caused her to laugh. She was chuckling to herself, immersed in her memories, when she suddenly saw Harry rounding the corner. He saw her too and trotted down to meet her.

"Hermione!" he said in a relieved tone. "I've been looking for you for _ages_. Where have you been? You're never at lunch or dinner or the library or anywhere."

"Oh . . . " she said. "Well, I've been eating and doing homework in the Heads' dorm and. . . you know you're breaking curfew, right?"

"That's never stopped me before," he replied, grinning. His face fell immediately, however. "Hermione, I'm really sorry. Ron's . . . being a git, I know. It's really not fair to you at all. I'm sure he's sorry, too, but you know him . . . he's too bloody stubborn to admit to anything. I mean, you and Malfoy? What idiot believes that kind of bull?" He laughed nervously and checked Hermione's reaction.

"Well . . . we're kind of friends, actually," said Hermione timidly. "Me and Malfoy."

"What?" gasped Harry.

"He's not that mean to me anymore, and I actually like talking to him," she said defensively. "But we're not romantically involved at _all_."

"That doesn't matter! He's - he's _Malfoy!_ He hates Muggle-borns!"

"He hasn't called me a Mudblood since the third day of school."

Harry shook his head, clearly not understanding Hermione's thought processes, and cleared his throat. "Well, that's not what I was going to talk about. I just wanted to say that Ginny's going crazy with worry and she hasn't seen you in about three weeks now, so she really wants to chat with you. And we all think you should move back to Gryffindor Tower. It's ridiculous that you have to live somewhere else just because of Ron. I'll sic Fred and George on him if he does anything to hurt you," he added with a small smile.

"Thanks," Hermione said, smiling back. "But I'm fine. If Ron's happy with - with Lavender, then none of us have a right to split that up. And the Heads' dorm isn't so bad. Really."

After she finished her statement, they heard movement behind them and turned around quickly.

"Potter, ten points from Gryffindor," Malfoy said smoothly, leaning against the stone wall. "I think it's past your bedtime."

"Fuck off, Malfoy," snarled Harry and he turned back around. "Hermione, I can't believe you said you're _friends_ with him."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders guiltily and threw a glare at Malfoy, who smirked contentedly back at her. "It's the rules, Harry. You _are _out after curfew, so . . . "

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Harry. He placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. "I'll be going back then. I'll arrange something between you and Ginny, okay? She is literally dying from lack of female company."

"All right," agreed Hermione. He left with a farewell nod to her and a sneer at Malfoy.

"So," began Malfoy. "I'm your 'friend'?" He curled his fingers into quotation marks, looking quite doubtful.

"Yes, I think so, and I believe you confirmed this earlier," Hermione pointed out. He grunted and mumbled something incoherently.

"What?" she asked.

He paused for a moment, then said, "Nothing."

"Er, okay," she said. She smiled kindly and checked her watch again.

"It's eleven," she said, relieved that rounds were over.

"Finally," groaned Malfoy, immediately heading back toward the Heads' rooms.

"Wait up!" cried Hermione as she tried to keep up with his long strides.

He turned around and tapped his foot impatiently as she caught up to him. "I suppose you only _read_ fast."

"Shut up."

They walked back to the dormitory together and in silence.

"While we're being decent to each other," blurted out Malfoy suddenly. "I have a question for you, Granger."

Hermione looked up at him, nonplussed, wondering what brought on the outburst. "Shoot."

"So . . . how bad is the damage between you and Weasel?"

"Um . . . " stuttered Hermione, completely thrown off. "Well . . . it's pretty bad, I suppose. Uh . . . we haven't spoken to each other since that incident on the first day of class. Why do you ask?"

"Nothing," he said for the second time.

She stared at his impassive face and tried to decipher his strange mood, but his face was completely unreadable.

"Don't feel too bad," she said. "It's not your fault. I think Lavender was telling Ron a load of nonsense about what happened in Ancient Runes, and he was thick enough to believe it."

"Who said I felt bad?" he grunted, but scratched his head nervously and looked the other direction.

They reached the dormitory soon after, Malfoy said the password, and they walked in. The first thing that Hermione saw was a pile of packages next to the fireplace that weren't there before rounds started; upon closer inspection, they were wrapped gifts.

"What the hell is this? It's blocking the fire," complained Malfoy.

Hermione took the topmost gift, which was covered in pretty blue paper, and looked at the tag. It read: _Happy Birthday, Hermione! Love, Mum and Dad_. She let out a girlish scream of surprise and dropped the gift as if it were hot iron.

"Oh my god, it's my birthday today!" she gasped. "I'm . . . I'm eighteen!"

"Oh, er . . . best wishes," Malfoy said.

He watched as she unwrapped her gifts, which included a few Muggle novels from her parents, a homemade mince meat pie from Hagrid, an assortment of Honeydukes candy from Harry, and a book from Ginny called _The Seventy Ways to Charm a Wizard_. She laughed when she read the title.

Malfoy suddenly laughed too. "Pansy has that book!" he squealed, chortling. "Wow."

"Hey, don't insult my gifts! I don't see you getting me anything."

"Neither did Weasley."

The smile immediately wiped off her face. It was true - Ron hadn't gotten her a single thing. He saw her expression and clamped his mouth shut.

"Sorry," he said hastily.

She shook her head. "No, don't be."

Sadly, she gathered her presents into her arms, thinking. Ron wasn't her boyfriend, but he was at least her friend deep down inside, no matter the current situation. She thought he would have had the decency to give her something, anything, for her birthday, even when they weren't speaking to each other. _I guess he's just more petty than I am_, she thought.

"Hey, Granger." She looked up at Malfoy's voice.

"You can have my quill. I've seen you eyeing it. Cost quite a bit, too," he offered, holding up a beautiful red phoenix feather quill that Hermione had indeed been coveting for the past few weeks. "Happy birthday, you know?"

Her mouth dropped and she quickly shook her head.

"No, I couldn't accept that!" she squeaked. "It's worth over a seven hundred Galleons! I don't want it."

"I insist," he insisted, and he pressed the quill into her palm. "I can just get my father to send me another. It's not a big deal for me."

It was light, even for a feather, though Hermione felt like she was holding a brick. Phoenix feathers were immensely magical, unbreakable by physical means, and cost a fortune, especially for relatively useless things like quills. She wasn't breathing very well.

"Why . . . ?" she asked in a small voice, deeply moved by his kind gesture. She knew he knew what she meant by her question.

"Don't question it, just take it," he snapped. "Just so you know, it has built-in spell checking, grammar checking, and it has its own ink."

She cradled the quill gently for a moment, confused and happy and suspicious all at once. Finally, she looked into his eyes and said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he replied, looking back into hers.

She suddenly burst into tears, dropped her other gifts on the couch, and gave a very bewildered Malfoy the most sincere hug he had ever received in his life.

* * *

**Many of the little things that Hermione and Draco do are actually based off my own stagnant "love"**** life. Ironically, they are further along in their relationship than I'll ever be. Sad, I know. So, personal stuff aside, this chapter was really fun to write and I hope you all enjoyed it! Stay tuned. I promise the next chapter will have more action. ;D.**


	5. Closer

**Wow, I love the reviews! All of them. I was improvising a bit the previous chapters, and everything's more according to plan now.**

* * *

**__****Chapter 5: Closer  
**

Everything that was going on was so alien to Draco - the kindness, the gifts, the crying, the hugging. He was not a touchy-feely sort of person, and it did not help that Granger was having a complete emotional meltdown in front of him and, to an extent, on him.

Unsure of what to do, he simply patted her back awkwardly until he couldn't bear it any longer.

"Um, Granger," he said after almost two minutes had passed. "Get the hell off. You're soiling my very expensive sweater."

She immediately let go. She was still sniffling a little, but she seemed sheepish and looked everywhere in the room but Draco. Inevitably, a heavy silence came over them. He found it odd compared to her "openness" a moment ago.

"Er . . . nothing happened here," she said with her lips pursed in a tight line.

"Right," he agreed.

They took a single look at each other, then spun around to go into their respective bedrooms, both clearly wanting to leave the awkward tension in the room. After washing up and changing, Draco slid between his sheets feeling strange indeed and not knowing what in the world was going on in his life. He actually laughed to himself thinking how his father would react if he knew that a Muggle-born had hugged him - probably throw a fit and sue the Grangers for assault.

He didn't know when he fell asleep, but his unconnected thoughts gradually changed into a dream. He was walking through a dark forest, possibly the Forbidden Forest, alone and without a wand. It was night time and there was only enough moonlight for him to see a few feet ahead at a time, and though he didn't know where he was going, he knew he was supposed to get there.

Suddenly there was a bright light in the distance, and his dream self's heart leapt. He began to run towards the light, wondering if that was the destined place, but abruptly stopped when he realized he could be dying. Didn't dying people run towards "the light"? As he debated with himself, a person walked beside Draco and stood there, immobile. It was Granger.

"What are you doing here?" he asked incredulously, not knowing that he had company. He noticed that she was crying, which made his insides turn unpleasantly.

"I don't know," she admitted. "What are you doing here?"

"I don't know, either."

"Guess what?"

"What?"

"Chicken butt."

The scenery swirled and changed. Somehow, they were in Hogwarts now. Granger was holding her parents' birthday gifts in one hand and held Weasley's hand in the other. Draco was walking behind them, but they were oblivious. A glint of red peeked out from Weasley's other hand, and with a jolt, Draco realized it was his phoenix quill.

"Hey, Weasley! That's mine!" he called out desperately. Granger looked over her shoulder but Weasley pulled her back quickly.

"Don't listen to him," Weasley whispered, not even bothering to turn to face Draco. "Happy birthday, Hermione." He handed the quill to Granger.

She smiled to him and wrapped an arm around his neck, planting a kiss on his lips. For some reason, Draco felt dreadful. He turned and ran, far far away, until he was back in the forest . . . but something was different from before - there was a voice now . . . a familiar voice . . .

"Draco _Malfoy_!" it screamed. "YOU - ARE - GOING - TO - BE - _LATE_!"

His eyes snapped open and he scrambled into a sitting position, only to hear someone pounding on his door. He checked the clock, blinking several times to make sure it was right.

"Granger! Are you _mad?!_ It's bloody five-thirty!" he screamed back. "I'm going back to sleep." He sank back into his sheets and put up a silencing charm for good measure. Two seconds later, the wooden door crashed down and Granger stomped into his room, yanked off the sheets, and slapped him awake.

"ARRRGH!" Draco yelped, cowering from her heavy hand and kicking out like a small child.

"Too bad I could hear you say 'Muffliato'," she snarled. "I forgot until late last night, but we have a Heads meeting today. In about twenty fucking minutes. So, get _up!_"

He continued to struggle, trying to remember where he put his wand, but Granger had a vicelike grip on his neck. "Shit, it's Saturday. I - need - SLEEP!" he yelled, closing his eyes again.

He felt a small hand clench the two sides of his face and shake his head violently and painfully. Getting nauseous, he finally opened his eyes to find Granger's flushed angry face glaring at him, her eyes even wider than usual. A strange feeling of déjà vu went through him, though he couldn't quite place where he would have experienced his current situation before.

"Let go of me," he blubbered through her fingers. "Crazy madwoman."

She obliged, removing her restricting hand, but she kept a beady eye on his movements. He lifted himself off his very comfortable bed and ambled sleepily to his bathroom. Granger started following him, but stopped abruptly in the doorway.

"Oh god, my corneas are burning," she groaned, looking away as he started brushing his teeth. "_Why_ aren't you wearing a shirt?"

Despite his drowsiness, Draco couldn't help but smirk at the thought of her appraising his shirtless body, which was pretty nice in his opinion. "I know this must be enjoyable for you, Granger, but staring is impolite," he said, grinning evilly.

"For your information, Malfoy, I'm trying _not_ to look. Oh, Jesus, _put on a shirt!_"

"You know you like it." He spit out his toothpaste, giving her a flashy, toothy, sarcastic grin. She opened her mouth, pointed a finger to the back of her throat, and pretended to gag.

"That gesture gives me naughty thoughts," Draco said.

She scowled. She turned around and sifted through one of his trunks, then threw a set of robes onto the bathroom floor. He cringed inwardly. Pure silk, worth a thousand or so Galleons, discarded like a dirty pair of underpants.

"Hurry up and change now. We have eight minutes to get to McGonagall's office and - " (Her scowl grew even bigger when he stripped to his boxers in front of her and started pulling on the clothes she chose) " - and I am leaving now." She stepped quickly out of his bedroom, covering her eyes and moaning in disgust. Draco chuckled to himself. It was so fun to annoy Granger.

When he finished, she positively dragged him down the stairs to the deputy headmistress's office. Upon their arrival, McGonagall glanced at her watch and gave a steely look to both of them, lingering longer on Draco's face.

"I expect the two student leaders to be _on time_," she said dryly. Granger started apologizing, but McGonagall brushed it away.

"There are more important matters, anyway. As you may know, we have an annual graduation ball - "

"A what, excuse me?" Draco groaned.

McGonagall glared at him with intense dislike etched in every wrinkle of her face. "A _ball_, Mr. Malfoy. As in a dance. Professor Dumbledore thinks it's a good way for seventh years to . . . er, celebrate," she said glumly, clearly disagreeing. "In other words, there is a whole lot of planning and much of the workload is put on _me_ and the Head Girl and Boy, since you of all people should know best what your peers like and want."

"What exactly are we supposed to do?" said Granger.

"Everything," McGonagall replied simply. "Food, entertainment, decorations, activities, et cetera. You have a budget of ten thousand Galleons, and you shouldn't use it all anyway, but other than that you can do whatever you wish."

"Why can't _Dumbledore_ plan it himself?" snapped Draco. He was not enjoying the fact that he had to do extra work with this "ball" crap, what with N.E.W.T.s coming up and his duties as Heady Boy, not to mention cranky from waking up so early.

"Malfoy!" gasped Granger.

"You will show respect or I can delegate more appealing tasks to you, such as scrubbing the toilets," said McGonagall severely, her face flushing with anger.

"That's Filch's job!" he countered.

Neither Granger nor McGonagall argued, surprisingly. Draco supposed that they hated Filch as much as anyone else.

"Back to the topic," McGonagall said loudly and suddenly. "You should probably try to contact the Weird Sisters' manager - they usually need requests a couple months in advance. That's all. You're dismissed."

With that, she shuffled a few pieces of parchment together and stared him and Granger down until they left her office.

Draco almost ran back to the dorm. He immediately plopped onto his bed and lost consciousness within seconds, but not before he heard Granger grumble, "Lazy arse."

* * *

Hermione watched Malfoy begin snoring within seconds of touching his bed, astonished that someone could fall asleep so quickly. He was even worse than Ron in this aspect.

Shaking her head, she drafted the letter to the Weird Sisters and began walking through the school to the Owlery. When she was about halfway there, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Who is - oh, _Ginny!_" Hermione screamed excitedly. The two hugged tightly.

"What're you doing up so early?" Hermione asked.

Ginny made a face and said, "Quidditch. Harry is getting a bit obsessive. Reminds me of Oliver Wood." She paused and looked Hermione straight in the eye. "Hermione, you don't have to do this."

"What?"

"The moving-away bullshit. Really, who gives a rat's arse what Ron thinks? If it means anything, he's not getting any better with you gone."

Hermione blinked, quite thrown off by the sudden change in conversation. "Well, I told Harry the same thing. It's really not that bad and - "

"How can it be _not that bad?_" Ginny said angrily. "It's Malfoy versus Ron! Okay, Ron can be a jerk, but at least he's not some egomaniacal, prejudiced, pampered, little _prat_."

"Ginny!" Hermione said incredulously. "Malfoy can be pretty nice, you know! When he wants to." She dropped her voice, even though they were alone in the corridors. "He gave me a birthday gift, when Ron didn't."

Ginny gaped at her for a second, then her expression softened considerably.

"Well. This is the surprise of the year," she said softly, more to herself than Hermione. "I can't believe this! Ron is just so . . . _petty_. He'll really be regretting his choices later. Well, anyway, I want to know more about this Malfoy stuff."

"He's just . . . I dunno, nicer," said Hermione.

"No, no! _Details!_" Ginny insisted.

"What details?" Hermione said, frustratingly.

"What 'nice' things did he do? When did he start? Details, Hermione, details."

Hermione thought a moment, and hesitantly told her about the original apology, the homework-helping, and most recently, the quill and the hug. "I mean, he can still be a royal git, but it's not so much . . . damn-you-to-hell-ish sort of behavior. It's more . . . friendly insulting?" She shrugged.

"Let's see the quill." She held out her hand, and Hermione fished the phoenix feather out of her bag and dropped it on Ginny's palm. "Merlin, this is quite . . . _gaudy_. How much is it worth, like a hundred Galleons?"

"Er, more, probably. And it is not _gaudy_, just high class. Besides, it's worth almost nothing to him."

Ginny stood silently for what seemed like a long time. Then she abruptly broke out in hysterics, doubling over and shaking with laughter.

"What?" asked Hermione again.

"He - Malfoy - " Ginny managed to gasp. "He _fancies_ you! Malfoy! Hahaha!"

At the suggestion of such a ridiculous theory, Hermione roared with laughter as well. She didn't realize that Ginny had stopped giggling when she started.

"Hermione, I'm serious."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione squeaked, still breathless from laughing. "We barely started talking civilly to each other, and now you think he _fancies_ me? I mean, you were the one laughing earlier! You are very, very mistaken."

"I don't think so. Why else would he start being nicer?"

"Maybe he just wanted to be a better person this year."

"Just like how Goyle wants to be a ballerina when he grows up."

"Oh, and _liking_ me is any more realistic?"

"Um . . . yeah?"

"Whatever, Ginny . . . " Hermione said, rolling her eyes. She changed the subject quickly. "So tell me how things are going with Harry!"

"You don't want to know," Ginny said with a mischievous glint in her eyes and a wide grin.

Hermione laughed nervously, not sure that she _did_ want to know.

"Well, we've snogged loads. Almost every waking minute," Ginny plowed on anyway. "I have this feeling that people are starting to get sick of it. We've gone as far as groping each other, but it's mostly snogging. Not too bad, no?"

"Niiiice," Hermione cooed. "I thought it was going to get more, er, kinky than kissing."

Ginny chuckled, then her face lit up. "Oh, I almost forgot! We're going to have a party in the Room of Requirement next Friday night. It's going to be sixth and seventh years. You should really come, Hermione."

"Er . . . "

"You can just ignore Ron. Forget that prick. You should come and have fun. Dancing, food, firewhisky, sound good to you?"

"Firewhisky?" gasped Hermione. "That's a banned substance!"

"Oh, lighten up," said Ginny, waving her hand. She looked pleadingly at Hermione with wide, puppy-dog eyes.

"Well . . . alright. I suppose I can go," Hermione said slowly.

"Fantastic, I'll tell Harry! Oh, Harry . . . _dammit!_ I'm supposed to be in the Quidditch pitch now. Sorry, I have to go! Bye!" With a quick embrace, Ginny zoomed down the hall at a lightning pace, looking glum.

Dazed, Hermione arrived at the Owlery still thinking about her conversation with Ginny. _Malfoy? Really?_ she thought doubtfully as she tied her letter to a small, fluffy brown owl. The very idea made her stomach feel funny, though from nausea or butterflies she did not know for sure.

When she was finished attaching the parchment to the owl's leg, it blinked at her with large black, knowing eyes and flew out of a nearby window. She walked back to the Heads' dorm, still feeling queasy. Malfoy's bedroom door was open, and she saw that he was still sleeping like a dead person, fully dressed. He was on his stomach, one arm dangling over the bed, and his mouth was wide open in a rather stupid manner.

"Aristocracy at its best," she muttered to herself, closing his door and then going into her own bedroom.

She laid on her bed and had a nice long thinking session. For almost an hour, she stared at the high, arched ceilings, eventually reaching three conclusions.

First, she shouldn't even be letting all this insignificant teenage drama go to her head. She knew that honestly none of the shit would seriously affect her future. Second, even if she and Ron weren't going to pursue anything romantically, she wanted them to be friends again at least. It would be simply a manner of waiting for Ron's common sense to come back and for him to apologize for his idiocy. Third, she wanted to become better friends with Draco Malfoy. They weren't children anymore, and they didn't need to act like ones. A pleasant thought ran through her mind as she imagined Malfoy on speaking terms with all her other friends.

The weekend passed uneventfully. Hermione visited the library a few times, took a few walks on the school grounds, and did some homework. Malfoy slept the rest of the day and disappeared from the common room that night. She only saw him again Sunday afternoon, looking exhausted.

"Why are you so tired?" asked Hermione scathingly. "You slept for about twenty of the last twenty-four hours."

"Make it twenty-four, if you count 'sleeping' as its other meaning, too. Pansy wanted to fuck," he replied.

She felt blood rush to her face and she quickly looked down at her book. A surge of some negative feeling pierced her heart. Jealousy? Sadness? Anger?

"Well, I hoped you enjoyed yourself," she said stiffly. "Though I don't really see how a walking STD is very appealing."

"It isn't," he muttered, much to Hermione's surprise.

He trudged to his room unhappily, dragged out his book bag, and sat opposite Hermione at the dining table. They did their homework in silence.

* * *

The next week was slow. The students mourned the true end of summer as the weather turned cooler and the teachers piled on more homework than ever. Hermione felt the lack of sleep and stress starting to affect her studies. Once in History of Magic, she actually fell asleep during one of Professor Binns's lectures. Often she would doze off while writing her essays; all in all, it was quite shameful behavior.

It was even worse since the Heads were assigned the latest hall patrolling shifts. This particularly irritated Malfoy, who (Hermione figured out soon enough) needed his "beauty sleep" in order to function like a normal human being. In their classes together, it wasn't uncommon for him to simply put his head down and nap for half an hour.

When Friday finally came, Hermione herself was ready for a twenty-hour sleep session. Alas, her plans were foiled after she was walking from her last class to the dorm, when Ginny pushed through the crowd and managed to drag Hermione into a corner.

"What," Hermione said impatiently, anxious to get to her nap.

"I just need to tell you the party's at eight. You need to think 'I need to get into the most awesome party ever' when you're walking past the door," Ginny said solemnly.

"Party . . . ?" With a sinking sensation, Hermione recalled the promise she made to go when they had talked a week ago. "Uuuugh."

"Yes, the party!" Ginny said shrilly. "I already told Harry and a whole lot of other people, so you are _definitely_ coming."

With a sigh of defeat, Hermione said, "Yeah, okay, I'll be there."

She wrestled herself out of Ginny's grasp and power walked towards the Heads' room. She figured that if she had at least a couple hours to relax, then, dammit, she was going to use them.

As she reached the stairs to the sixth floor, she suddenly noticed a flurry of movement behind a statue of an old witch. Curious, she looked behind it. She saw a tangle of red and dirty blond hair and a large amount of writhing.

"Well," she said.

Ron and Lavender froze. They slowly broke apart to look at their intruder and Ron's mouth opened and closed several times, making him look like a fish.

"Hello, Ron. Hello, Lavender," said Hermione sweetly. A cool fury was building up inside of her, but she carefully kept it hidden.

Ron tried to speak, but only choked out, "Hey." Lavender, who was taller than Hermione, looked down at her sort of condescendingly but did not say anything.

Hermione blinked very slowly and stretched her mouth into an artificial smile. "I'm glad things are going well with you two, but please keep your personal life, well, _personal_." She was internally laughing as she realized how much she sounded and acted like Umbridge.

"Sod off, Hermione."

Both she and Ron stared incredulously at Lavender. She haughtily flipped her hair and clutched Ron's arm, leading them out from behind the statue, but not before shooting a glare at Hermione. Wide-eyed, Ron obediently followed her and they rushed up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower.

Hermione was slightly in a state of shock as she walked towards the Heads' dorms. Once she was in the privacy of her bedroom, everything snapped. She forgot all about the second conclusion she made a week earlier. She forgot that none of this mattered in life. All she could see was Ron and Lavender, entwined and snogging the lights out of each other. With the same cold anger from before, she ripped a piece of blank parchment to shreds, imagining it as Ron's and Lavender's heads. She threw her clock across the room and watched it smash into the wall, break into pieces, and clink onto the wooden floor. Tears threatened to fall but Hermione prevented herself from crying through sheer force. Crying was for weak people.

She was about to throw one of her slippers when her door suddenly crashed open.

"What the hell is going on here?" snapped Malfoy, his hair and clothes uncharacteristically tousled.

"Nothing." She saw him looking at the broken clock and pieces of parchment scattered over her bed, and she quickly hid the slipper behind her back.

"Right . . ." he said sarcastically. "Whatever it is, please stop, because I am trying to take a nap and it's rather difficult when a certain crazy bitch is doing Merlin-knows-what in her bedroom, so - why the fuck are you looking at me like that?"

Hermione was staring at him, a glorious plan forming in her head. What more perfect way was there to have her vengeance on Ron than to go out with _Malfoy?_ It was all so clear now, so perfect that she almost laughed out loud. So, so perfect.

"Hey Malfoy, are you free today?" she asked, a smile escaping her lips.

"Yeah . . . why?" he said suspiciously.

"Well, I was wondering . . . if, er . . . if," Hermione babbled, suddenly thinking that this was harder than she thought. "Um, there's a party in the Room of Requirement today, and - uh - I was just wondering whether you wanted to go."

He raised an eyebrow, the simple gesture containing almost as much sarcasm as his smirks. "Asking me on a date, Granger? I am surprised."

"Not really a _date_, per se," she said, flustered.

"As 'friends'?"

"Er, not exactly . . . "

Suddenly, he walked forward, gazing down lazily at Hermione. The look was frightening, and she didn't realize she was backing away until she hit the wall behind her. Malfoy's eyes were calm, but there was something dangerous about them.

"I don't like being fucked around with," he breathed. "What's your real motive?" He leaned in even closer, almost as if he was expecting a kiss.

Hermione's heart fluttered nervously. "Fine. I want to make Ron jealous," she blurted out, deciding that honesty was probably best.

Malfoy's expression cleared immediately, and amusement touched his features. "Granger, I think you might have some Slytherin in you."

"I do not! This is just personal stuff." She exhaled with relief at his change in demeanor. "So, will you go?"

"Why not. I do love a good Weasley bashing." He laughed. No, cackled. Malfoy cackled.

"Excellent!" she said. "Just be ready by eight." With that, she pushed him out the door, then flopped onto her bed to take her well-deserved nap.

After a few hours of blissful, dreamless sleep, Hermione's internal clock woke her up. A check of her watch told her it was about seven-thirty. She rolled off her bed and went to her closet, wondering what to wear. Rifling through her clothes, she finally chose a simple, pretty cotton dress that she knew looked fantastic on her. To go with that, she selected a pair of strappy sandals. Modest, with a hint of sexiness. She smirked a little when she thought of how Ron would react.

She put on the dress and shoes and threw her impossible hair up into a bun, finally ready. She was about to knock on Malfoy's door when it opened and he walked out, dressed in his outfit. He saw her and stopped in his tracks, and they both sized each other up.

He wore a black dress shirt, the top button or two undone, and a pair of fitted, dark jeans, both of which Hermione found slightly strange.

"So you own Muggle clothing," she said, at last realizing what was off about it all.

"_Everyone_ under the age of thirty does," he replied. His eyes flitted over her body, from her hair straight down to her shoes. "Well, you look nice. Weasley must have done something horrible to be deserving this."

Hermione squirmed a bit uncomfortably, unsure of how to interpret his comment. "Erm, we should get going now . . . "

She quickly bustled out of the dormitory and headed east towards Gryffindor Tower, with Malfoy following closely behind. After a few turns they reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and the ballerina trolls. Hermione stared at the blank stone wall on the opposite side of the hallway, starting to feel apprehensive about her grand plan.

She cleared her throat. "So, Malfoy, we need to go over a few things."

"Sure," he said lazily.

"First, you will call me Hermione, not Granger, in front of other people." He grimaced, but with a leer from Hermione he nodded glumly.

"Next, you will put your arm around me whenever I tell you to - "

He gaped at her. "I'm not going to be your _bitch_ - "

"Hey! You agreed to this!"

"I didn't know you were going to keep me on a fucking _leash_."

"Arrrrgh!" she screamed. "Just play your part, okay? That's all I'm asking."

"All right! Stop yelling at me."

Hermione rolled her eyes and began pacing up and down the hall, mentally summoning the Room of Requirement. _I want to get into the most awesome party ever, I want to get into the most awesome party ever, I want to get into the most awesome party ever_ . . . Stupid Malfoy. How hard was it to do what she asked? She alternated between thinking of the party and a certain Slytherin's idiocy.

After three rounds past the tapestry, an innocent-looking plain, brown door appeared on the wall. She walked to it and placed a tentative hand on the cold doorknob, inhaling deeply through her teeth. This was probably her biggest, bitchiest act of revenge of her life, and she needed to gather all of her self-confidence, courage, and acting skills.

Then out of nowhere, a hand slithered around her waist, making her jump in surprise. Malfoy's face was alarmingly close for the second time that night, and once again Hermione's heart fluttered.

"A bit close, aren't we?" she said, her fingers still clutched around the doorknob. She took another deep, silent breath and focused her eyes on the grain patterns of the wood.

"Just playing my part," he replied smoothly.

He placed his free hand on top of hers, the one holding the knob. Her breath hitched as she wondered with nervousness and excitement what he was going to do.

"You - turn - it - _clockwise_, Granger," he enunciated slowly.

Hermione's strange and wild imagination shattered. As if she were mentally unstable, Malfoy grasped her frozen hand and twisted it to the right, the whole time giving unnecessary details on know to do this simple procedure.

"Oh, shut up, you arse," she growled.

With a scowl, she slapped Malfoy's hand off and yanked open the door. She puffed up her chest, Malfoy's arm still encircling her waist, and took her first step into hell.

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**  
I hope you guys liked it. Keep up the reviews! They really inspire me. Thank you to silentemotions3, xxxxcrazychickxxxx, Elven at Heart, Miss DnG, Bea Mendes, BeckyBeloved, Veela Potter, brooklynsam3, caseyjarryn, Okikuchan, JackMehoff, E'Claireee, Twitchy the Squirrel, and el-dogg. You all rock.**

**Stay tuned for chapter 6!  
**


	6. Slut

**I'm so glad that there are actually people enjoying this story. Sorry for the wait . . . school is hell, not to mention this chapter was hard to write for some reason . . . well, here you go.  
**

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**__****Chapter 6: Slut  
**

The first thing Hermione heard was a blast of loud music from some unknown wizard metal rock group, with unintelligible lyrics, screaming, and the works. Her eyes darted quickly left and right, searching for any sign of her friends.

She saw at least five couches, two minibars, and three tables of food, though her view was quite obstructed. A small dance floor had been conjured in the middle of the huge room, and already it was packed with horny sixth and seventh years, swaying to the music. Suddenly, she spotted them grouped together near the center of the crowd - Ron, Lavender, Harry, Ginny, even Luna and Neville, all dancing in a way that would have made Mrs. Weasley faint.

"Hey, it's them," Malfoy said, nodding in their general direction.

"Thank you, Mr. Obvious," Hermione replied sardonically. They mutually glared at each other for a second. He crossed his arms and hungrily eyed the nearest food table.

"Well," he drawled. "What's the plan?"

She twirled a lock of her hair, staring at the huge horde of people and thinking intensely. "Wait for a slow song. Then we're going to subtly move toward Ron and Lavender, and he'll see us . . . um, dancing . . . and hopefully he'll go bonkers."

Malfoy sort of grunted in assent and immediately headed towards the hors d'oeuvre trays.

"HEY! You do not just abandon me. We're supposed to be _together_!" Hermione snapped. She caught up to him and clutched his arm, intending to lead him nearer the dance floor, but Malfoy completely ignored her and simply dragged her along.

She stared at him incredulously as he scarfed down at least five mini sandwiches in one go, finishing with chugging a few glasses of punch. He then picked up a cheese cube, threw it into the air, and caught it in his mouth.

"Is that some talent of yours?" she asked, fighting a smile as she remembered a certain dinner roll incident.

"I suppose so. Crabbe, Goyle, and I used to do it when I was bored."

"That's what she said," she blurted out automatically. She clapped her hand over her mouth and giggled silently. _Oh dear_, she thought. The fluttering in her stomach was getting the better of her.

Malfoy stared at her, his mouth slightly open. "Wow, Granger. Wow. Didn't know you had that in you."

"That's what _he_ said."

He looked positively perplexed. Hermione bit her knuckles and turned red from not laughing. She thought it was probably the fumes from the alcohol. It must be.

"Granger, do you need a drink? You seem a bit . . . off," he said solemnly. He took out his wand and shouted, "_Accio firewhisky_."

A bottle zoomed over from the minibar, hitting a few heads on the way, and landed obediently in Malfoy's hand. He uncorked the top, took a brief swig, and passed it to Hermione.

Instead of drinking, she glanced at her reflection in the amber glass and stroked a few strands of her hair, tugging at her hair tie and deciding against it. "Hmmm . . . do you think I should keep my hair up or let it down?"

Malfoy shrugged and slid his hands in his pockets. "Depends on what impression you want to give. You want to look sleek and sophisticated . . . or wild, sexy, and hot?" he said.

She glanced at him, eyebrow raised, which elicited another shrug from him. With a flourish, she whipped her hair tie off and let her hair tumble down over her back and shoulders. It felt a bit ticklish, but also slightly daring . . . even though she wore her hair down all the time. No matter.

"How is that?" she asked, combing her locks with her fingers.

"Great."

"Amazingly, erotically, fantastically 'great'?"

"Maybe to a sphinx. I hear they love big manes."

"Thanks a bunch," Hermione said sarcastically, but she left her hair that way. He smirked unhelpfully and pointed to the firewhisky bottle still in her clutches.

"Are you going to have any of that?" he inquired. "Because I want it back if you're not."

Instinctively, she glared at him and turned her body so the firewhisky was out of his sight and reach, slapping away the arm he extended to take the bottle. "This is _mine_ now!" she snapped. She lifted it to her lips, staring defiantly at Malfoy at the same time.

She felt the burning in her nose first as she poured the liquid into her mouth. The firewhisky passed through her system like an inferno, painful, hot, but somehow comforting. Her head seemed to clear and the jitters in her stomach disappeared.

"Mmm, this is excellent," she gushed and took a longer, deeper drink. The cleansing flame burned through her body again, but this time she felt slightly light-headed.

"Really? Granger, a closet alcoholic?" said Malfoy, smirking.

"Shut up, I'm not an alcoholic." She gulped another two mouthfuls before Malfoy gently wrestled the bottle out of her hands.

"I think that's enough. You haven't built a tolerance yet."

Hermione pouted and tried to reach for the firewhisky, but he held it high above his head. The sudden movement of her arms made her head swim briefly and she had to use Malfoy's arm to steady herself, silently cursing herself for actually have such a low tolerance.

"Thanks," she said, oblivious to his eye-rolling.

At that exact moment, the song changed to a Celestina Warbeck ballad that Hermione recognized as Mrs. Weasley's favorite single. A slow song.

"Perfect!" she yelled. Several heads turned to stare at her, but she ignored them and firmly grabbed Malfoy's hand. "It's show time, beeyooootch."

She felt Malfoy shake with silent laughter. "Granger. What the fuck was that?"

"Shut up," she retorted, though it was true that the alcohol made her feel rebellious, more reckless. "And don't swear, it's bad."

"Coming from Miss Firewhisky . . . "

Hermione ignored him as they clawed their way through the crowd, trying to reach the nucleus of the dance floor. Hermione noticed several people, including the Patil twins, Dean Thomas, and Anthony Goldstein, staring and pointing at her and Malfoy while whispering furtively to their neighbors. Regular Hermione might have chickened out of her plan at that point, but alcohol-laden Hermione was more determined than ever.

She stuck her chin up in the air as she pushed through a few more layers of students. Before they reached the group with Ginny, Harry, and Ron, she stopped abruptly and threw her arms around Malfoy's neck. He went along with her and placed his hands on her waist, though looking confused.

"Why are we stopping here?" he asked loudly over the music.

"We'll work ourselves into their group so it won't look like this was planned," she shouted. "It has to be gradual!"

"It _is_ planned!" he yelled back. She ignored him.

They danced slowly for a while, getting a little bit closer to the center of the dance floor with every step.

Hermione kept her arms placed awkwardly around Malfoy's neck and casually turned her head left and right, glancing at everything except him. After appraising every detail of the room at least three times, she finally sneaked a subtle peek at him. He was much taller than she thought, and she was forced to look up to see his face in its entirety. He didn't put gel in his hair today and it fell softly across his gray eyes. With the contrast of his pale features and his dark clothes, he was actually rather good-looking. She wondered why she hadn't noticed before.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. He smelled kind of like mint and something sweet and cool, maybe fruity. Who knew that slimy bastard could smell so nice? Or look so nice? Or be nice in general? Her stomach twitched slightly at these blasphemous thoughts.

"Hey Granger, whatever happened to the buck teeth?" Malfoy suddenly said, breaking her reverie. She opened her eyes abruptly and saw that he was staring off into space behind her with a poker-face expression, with the small exception of a slight twitching of the corners of his mouth. With a start, she realized that she had been smiling and quickly stopped.

"Interesting you would ask," she said, a little sourly. "They're gone thanks to you."

"Huh?"

"Remember? Fourth year? You hexed my teeth so they kept growing, and I had to go to Madam Pomfrey and get them fixed. I just let her shrink them a little bit past normal."

"Oh yeah, _densaugeo_," he said, chuckling. He was looking at her now.

"I should be a Healer, or one of those Muggle things . . . orthee-donkists," he said, obviously very proud for remembering the word.

"No you shouldn't," she firmly countered, though pleased that he was suddenly in such a good mood.

"So then, what happened to that disgusting hair?" he asked after a small pause. "My memory may be faulty, but I don't recall hexing it to be extra frizzy."

Hermione's mouth dropped and she removed an arm to punch Malfoy very hard in the chest. He winced, but continued to smirk.

"Easy there, Granger. It was a compliment," he explained.

"Really? Please elaborate," she snapped.

"It means your hair isn't as a much of a bird's nest as before."

She pursed her lips and said, "Right . . . well, I dunno, I suppose I'm just taking care of my personal appearance more. You know how when you're a kid, you don't _really_ care how you look . . . something like that. I suppose."

"Or . . . " he said mischievously. "You're showing off for Weasley?"

She shot him a death glare and punched him in the stomach, harder than the first time. He actually flinched a little and complained with a small "ow."

"Don't you know when to shut up? Stupid, spoiled prat."

"But it's true, isn't it? The Weasley bit," insisted Malfoy.

"Of course not! Honestly, I don't think he would notice anything short of me dancing naked in front of him." She paused. "Okay, let's pretend I didn't just say that."

"Too bad you _did_ say it," he said, grinning. "Now I can use it against you, how great is that?"

"Oh, sod off . . . "

"Clever comeback, Granger."

"Must we always be engaged in a battle of wits?" she said dramatically, rolling her eyes.

"We must," Malfoy replied with complete solemnity.

She couldn't help her lips from curling. They danced with each other silently, listening to the hum of whispers surrounding them as Celestina Warbeck belted out ridiculous lyrics about a cauldron full of hot, strong love.

Then, there was suddenly a loud, anguished voice that rose up somewhere to Hermione's left; a voice that she had anticipated on hearing that night.

"H-Hermione? _Malfoy?_" Ron screamed.

The entire room grew silent except for the music blaring over their heads. Hermione's smile vanished.

Harry and Neville looked as if they were passing kidney stones, but it was nothing compared to Ron's livid, ghostly white face. His hands were clenched in tight fists and he held his body so rigid that he was shaking, to the point that Hermione thought he looked seriously ill.

"Hello," she said, carefully removing herself from Malfoy.

"Fancy seeing you here, Weasley," Malfoy greeted pleasantly, twisting his lips into his most evil, sarcastic smirk.

"H-how? Who the fuck invited _her_ and that - that _ferret?!_" Ron bellowed, looking around wildly as if the answers were hiding from him.

"I did," Ginny replied in a shaky voice, stepping forward. "Well, I invited Hermione at least." She looked at Hermione with confused brown eyes and avoided Malfoy's curious glance.

Lavender also stepped forward. She took Ron's armed and tried to drag him back towards her, but he was immobile.

"Come _on_," she hissed. "Screw her."

Ron laughed coldly, completely ignoring Lavender and Ginny. "Oh, I get it. You're trying to make me jealous, right? You did the same thing with McLaggen, now it's just Malfoy instead. _Great_ plan, Hermione. Well it didn't work. Because this is _so_ obviously fake."

Hermione felt a burning sensation inside her, similar to the effect of firewhisky. "For you information, we _are_ a couple," she lied convincingly, the heat spreading throughout her entire body.

"Prove it," Ron countered.

"And just how do we do that?" laughed Hermione. Cold sweat burst out behind her neck immediately, but she kept her sarcastic smile plastered to her face.

Lavender, who had given up restraining Ron, stepped beside Ron with her arms crossed. "Kiss him," she said. Ron looked shocked for a small moment, then turned to smirk at Hermione smugly.

Time seemed to stop. Hermione had not anticipated this at all. Her stomach did several back flips, and Malfoy completely froze. They exchanged a single confused, frantic glance.

Then without warning, he turned her to face him, leaned down, and pressed his lips against hers. Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets in shock, and she saw him giving her a warning look. The kiss lasted about half a second before Malfoy hastily removed himself and tugged at his shirt sleeve uncomfortably, his complexion slightly green. His mouth was pursed in a ridiculous manner, as if he were trying to keep them as far away from the rest of his body as possible.

"You've got to be joking," scoffed Lavender, who clearly was not impressed. "That proved _shit_. My grandmother kisses me more passionately that. Do it again."

Hermione's heart pounded like a hammer trying to break through her ribcage. Why couldn't anyone hear it?

"This is ridiculous," she trilled in a high, unnatural falsetto.

She looked at Ron, who, unlike Lavender, apparently thought the kiss meant something. His face was frozen in absolute horror; Hermione was afraid vomit would start spilling out of his open mouth.

Lavender said loudly, "It shouldn't matter if you're going out, now should it?"

Hermione laughed nervously. "Well, we don't really enjoy doing public displays of affection . . . It's . . . er, distasteful."

"But you just did one, like, ten seconds ago.".

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, trying to think of a catty retort, but nothing passed her mind except a few swear words that would have been inappropriate and stupid. "Oh piss off, you bitch. _Fine_. FINE!"

Now Hermione was the one who spun Malfoy around.

"Granger, what the - mmmph!"

Without hesitation she grabbed the sides of his head and pulled him down to crush her lips over his, moving her mouth expertly and even rubbing her leg against his thigh a little. If this wasn't convincing enough, she didn't know what was.

Malfoy was immobile, unnatural, his eyes still wide open. She impatiently pressed herself even more into his body and deepened the kiss, pushing for some kind of response. He stumbled backwards slightly from the weight, still clearly in shock, and grasped her arms so that they both wouldn't fall. She firmly pinched his arm and opened an eye to glare at him significantly.

Hermione moved her mouth over his jaw and hissed in deadly soft voice, "Do something, you douche. I'm not supposed to be snogging a fucking statue!"

The insults seemed to have some effect. Malfoy blinked a few times and glared downwards at her, a small scowl forming on his lips.

"Don't tell me what to do, bitch," he whispered, barely breathing the words. Hermione was about to stop out of exasperation, but suddenly he cupped her chin and turned her face back to his, looking extremely defiant. They locked eyes for a fraction of a second - her wide, shocked ones into his mischievous ones - before he leaned down and pressed his lips on hers. With a surge of adrenaline, Hermione responded enthusiastically and they went on for quite some time. After a short while, she was actually starting to enjoy it, especially since Malfoy seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

It wasn't like this before - not with Viktor, not with McLaggen, and she certainly had not snogged someone senseless in front of her friends. _I am so drunk_, she thought vaguely.

They finally broke apart after an indefinite amount of time, both of them slightly panting. Hermione wasn't sure if it had been ten seconds or ten minutes, but it was still completely silent around them. That was strange. Just a moment ago it had seemed so loud.

Malfoy looked rather shocked but he was smiling in a hesitant way, showing off a set of straight white teeth.

"That was . . . something," he mumbled.

Hermione blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the stars in front of her eyes. Both of them straightened up and turned hesitantly to face the crowd.

Instead of being white, Ron was now a deep shade of angry purple, his fists again clenched tightly beside his rigid body. Most of the girls, including Lavender, had their mouths agape and eyes widened to the size of ping pong balls. Harry, Neville, Dean, and Seamus all looked sick to their stomachs, while Ginny had the most normal expression with her slightly raised eyebrows.

Ron stepped forward to Hermione and lifted a trembling arm, a thousand emotions flitting across his face - the most prevalent one being anger.

He slapped her.

The crack seemed to echo across the room over and over again. Hermione gasped and covered her cheek, trying to stop her tears of pain and hurt. Her stomach rolled unpleasantly and she thought she was going to throw up. The crowd behind Ron all inhaled simultaneously, making the silence even more deafening.

"You . . . you . . . " Ron hissed, pointing a finger shakily at her face. "Hermione Granger, you are a disgusting _slut_."

The silence seemed to triple in thickness. No one breathed, no one moved; everyone stared at Ron and Hermione, waiting for something to happen.

_Slut_. The word slashed through her like a knife. Anger boiled in the pit of her stomach as she remembered all the stupid things she did to get him back, when in return she got nothing but a slap and the word _slut_.

"Hell no," she gritted through her teeth. "_You_ are the slut, you fucking man whore!" He gaped at her, having never heard her swear so profusely before.

She went up to him and slapped him back with all the force she could muster.

As he yelped and stumbled backwards, he was immediately knocked forwards again and fell face first to the ground. Hermione saw Ginny behind him, holding up her offending fist and looking furious. Then, of all people, Malfoy dropped to his knee, picked Ron up by the collar of his shirt, and punched him squarely in the eye.

"You son of a bitch," Malfoy said in a almost sing-song voice, looking behind him to smirk at Hermione. This was clearly his favorite part of the evening. "Hasn't your mum taught you not to hit girls?"

Ginny also dropped down to Ron's level and lifted his head up using his hair. "How could you do that to Hermione?" she roared. "Wait until I tell _Mother_ about this. You're getting a Howler for sure tomorrow. Filthy, stinking, _bastard_."

"And Hermione!" she suddenly cried out, which took Hermione by surprise. "You _are_ a slut! For God's sake, woman!"

Hermione gave Ginny a hard expression and folded her arms defiantly.

Ron groaned painfully and rolled out of the grasps of Malfoy and Ginny. They left him on the floor, squirming, while Lavender and Harry hurried to tend to him.

As soon as he could open his right eye, Ron pushed aside his attendants and stood up. Hermione could already see bruises starting to form in his right eye and a red hand mark on his cheek. He avoided eye contact with everyone and stomped to a corner of the room, kicking anyone who was in his way.

The audience, sensing closure, quickly dispersed, and Hermione, Malfoy, and Ginny stood together awkwardly, throwing confused glances at each other and shuffling their feet.

Ginny suddenly grabbed Hermione's arm and quickly led her away into a small, unoccupied corner, leaving Malfoy alone in the middle of the dance floor.

"Hermione!" she hissed, looking around to make sure no one was listening. "What in Merlin's name _was_ that_?_"

"Um."

"Sure, Ron's a royal arse, but . . . my _god_. How far are you willing to go? Okay, the slap and the 'slut' part wasn't exactly gentlemanly. . . but, _Draco Malfoy?_ Goddammit, Hermione, goddammit. I was literally _this_ far - " she pinched her fingers together " - from puking. If I hadn't talked to you before, I would've _completely_ believed what I just saw there and I've been supportive, since Ron is a fucktard, but Malfoy is simply crossing the line, dammit and - "

"Ginny!" Hermione said loudly.

Ginny took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but that was the bitchiest thing I have ever seen."

Hermione bit her lip and tried to force her heart to slow down. "I know," she said. "But I - I'm not really sure. After what you said before, I think he might. Fancy me, I mean. Malfoy. Me." Her mouth instantly went dry at saying these disturbing words.

"Well, of course he does," Ginny snapped. "The problem here is that you're using him to get back at Ron. You're deeply hurting both of them."

She couldn't help but snort. "Malfoy was perfectly happy to be causing harm to Ron," Hermione scoffed. "I don't think he was very hurt. _And_ he agreed to doing this, so it's not like I was manipulating him or anything."

"Aren't . . . _you_ a bit repulsed?" Ginny asked suspiciously.

"By what?"

"Malfoy!"

Hermione blinked and said, "Yes, of course! I mean, well, no. Since we're friends, but . . . didn't we go over this a week ago?"

"Not really," Ginny said. "Why are you getting so flustered?"

"No one's getting flustered!"

Ginny suddenly shrieked. "Oh my god, Hermione! _You_ fancy _him_ too!"

"WHAT THE HELL?!?" Hermione yelled. A few nearby people turned around and stared at her. She lowered her voice and hissed, "Ginny, are you drunk? How in Merlin's name did you come up with _that_ conclusion?"

She shrugged and patted Hermione's shoulder in a motherly way. "Perhaps one day, you'll come up with that conclusion also."

"What??"

Ginny laughed, quite amused, then looked up to see past Hermione's head. Hermione turned around to find Malfoy stomping up to them, looking rather grumpy.

"Some slutty sixth year was hitting on me," he announced, pointing behind him to a blond girl standing by herself. "I feel violated."

"That - that's Luna!" screamed Hermione, breaking out in hysterics.

"She was saying how my hair reminded her of Crumple-horned Snorkack piss! 'It is precisely that healthy, translucent, pale yellow color,' " he mimicked, quite indignant. "Pale yellow my arse!"

Hermione almost ripped an abdomen muscle giggling and she turned around to laugh with Ginny, only to find that she had mysteriously disappeared.

"That's odd . . . " she muttered under her breath.

"What?"

"Oh, I was just talking to myself."

"Um, all right . . . "

The thousandth silence that night, it seemed, ensued between them.

"Anyway," Malfoy said loudly. "Are you planning on any more mischief?"

"Er, no," mumbled Hermione.

"Then . . . I'm leaving this shitty Gryffindor party." Without a backward glance, he turned and started for the exit.

"Wait, I'll come too!"

He stopped immediately and waited until Hermione caught up. At that moment, Ginny chose to suddenly reappear and scream, "Are you leaving already, darling?!" She had a shot glass in her hand and her eyes weren't focused quite right. It was shocking what a few minutes and a couple ounces of firewhisky could do to a person.

"Yes, I'm leaving. Thanks for the invite," Hermione said kindly. She hugged Ginny and quickly darted out of the Room of Requirement, Malfoy close behind her.

He cleared his throat as they were walking. "So, I never knew you Gryffindors were this slutty."

She ignored him.

He was looking at her now, the signature smirk back on his lips. "You know, Granger, I like them _feisty_," he said in a seedy voice. "That slap was hot."

Hermione let out a guttural choke and turned her head to face him. "Keep dreaming, ferret."

He rolled his eyes and lost the smirk. "_You_ keep dreaming," Malfoy said, snorting. "I have better pieces of ass than a desperate Muggle-born."

"I'm sure Pansy 'the Cow' Parkinson is amazing."

"That bitch is a sodding wanker. Don't even mention her." Malfoy growled, clenching his teeth together in frustration.

"Touchy now . . . " Hermione said with a small smile.

"You're just begging for a beating, aren't you?" he said.

Feeling daring and random again, she gave him her sweetest, widest smile which immediately wiped his smirk off, only to have it replaced with an expression of utter confusion.

"It's too bad you don't hit girls now, isn't it?" she said, looking up from under her eyelashes and subtly licking her lips. They were now in front of the Heads' dorm, and she thought she would get some revenge for his offensive comments.

Malfoy gaped at her. "Holy shit, Granger," he hissed. "Don't do that, you're scaring the fuck out of me." He quickly barked the password to the large door, and practically ran over Hermione to get through. He was in his room with his door closed before she even took a step near the front door.

Chuckling, she went into the dorm after him and kicked off her sandals. "Hey, Malfoy," she called in the general direction of his room.

"What do you want, slut?" came the distant, hollow-sounding reply. He was probably in his bathroom.

"Don't start wanking!" Hermione yelled.

"WHAT? WHO'S WANKING?"

She laughed and sat on the couch, leaning her head back. After a small pause, she called out, "No, but seriously now. Thanks for doing . . . everything."

Another pause before the reply. "Sure, whatever."

"Night."

"Don't have a naughty dream about me now, Granger. Night."

Hermione scoffed and went into her own room, thinking how very strange her life had become.

* * *

**  
Whew. This is probably full of grammar mistakes and typos but I'm too lazy to go through it . . . Well, I don't know if you guys hated this or loved it, but there's more to come. Again, based on some of my own experiences (of course not this silly or dramatic, lol). Chapter 7 up soon enough!  
**


	7. Pansy's Revenge

**Well. I don't even know how long it's been. As usual I blame school. Here you go!**

* * *

**_Chapter 7: Pansy's Revenge  
_**

The rest of the weekend and following week passed surprisingly uneventfully. Ron seemed to carry out his silent treatment even more aggressively, if that was possible, and no one else felt the desire to mention the party or kissing to Hermione. All in all, things were essentially the same as before. She had no idea what the situation was like in the Slytherin side, and she didn't really want to know either.

It was partly because no one had time to carry on meaningless chat. The seventh years' homework pile seemed to grow exponentially. Even Hermione, who always did assignments when she received them, had to stay up until four in the morning one night to finish a Charms project and an impossible Ancient Runes essay. She knew for a fact that Malfoy did not sleep at all that day and that Harry still hadn't finished the Charms project by breakfast time.

She had gone into the Charms classroom early, mostly to avoid the whispers and stares of her classmates. She immediately regretted her choice when she saw that Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were the only other two in the classroom, conversing quietly. Malfoy abruptly stopped talking when he saw Hermione, which made Pansy look up as well.

"Oh, it's just you," Pansy said haughtily, clearly unhappy that her quality time with Malfoy was being interrupted.

Hermione roller her eyes extravagantly and took her usual seat right in front of Professor Flitwick's podium, staring unusually hard at an imperfection in the floor plank beside her foot. A sudden, inexplicable feeling of sadness washed over her at that moment. She gripped her seat tightly and tried to think of ways to improve her Ancient Runes essay, but her mind kept spinning in circles. Angrily, she thought of how she should have been enjoying breakfast with the rest of the Gryffindors. _Fuck what they all thought! _Somewhere in the distance, Pansy laughed—a frightening shriek of a sound.

Hermione heard Malfoy say, "Merlin's sake, Pansy. Stop that. You sound like a deranged bat." She couldn't help but giggle to herself.

"S-stop laughing, you dirty Mudblood!" Pansy gasped. Hermione turned her head back quickly and saw that Pansy's face was beet red. Pansy sneered at her and turned back to Malfoy.

"Oh, Draco, don't be mean. Your joke was so funny, I had to laugh!"

"Whatever you say. . . ."

Pansy lowered her voice suddenly. "Draco, can I ask you something?" At once, Hermione could feel the hairs on her neck stand up at her tone, could feel the two Slytherins' eyes bore into the back of her head. She could not explain why, but she knew what Pansy's question would be.

"Um . . . did you really . . . er, snog Granger?"

The silence was suffocating.

Draco then said evenly, "Well, yes I did." Pansy made a choking noise.

"What! Why would you do that?" she whined. "What about me? How can you forget about me? And . . . and with a Mublood, of all people!"

Hermione felt her cheeks flush, and allowed her curiosity to get the best of her. She peeked behind her just in time to see tears begin pouring out of Pansy's beady eyes. Malfoy had an annoyed expression. He leaned back on his chair and steadily gazed out the window, a hint of his signature smirk on his lips.

"Don't be a hypocrite, Pansy. We all know that cunt of yours has been passed around more than Weasley's dress robes." His tone made even Hermione shiver.

Pansy stood up quickly, shaking slightly from shock and hurt. She seemed like she was going to faint, when without warning she flew at Hermione and grabbed her sweater collar. Hermione was all too aware of Pansy's long manicured nails digging into her shirt, which could easily gash someone's face if she so desired.

Malfoy also got up from his chair, knocking it over in his haste. "Calm down, it's not her fault," he said sternly. He calmly grasped Pansy's forearm and wrestled her grip off of Hermione.

The tears fell once again, and Pansy's shoulders rocked with pitiful sobs. "But Draco, I _love_ you!"

"Loony wankers," Hermione muttered to herself, glancing at the clock for the hundredth time. The five minutes she had sat in the Charms room felt more like five hours. Pansy and Malfoy's relationship downright disgusted her, but she was more adverse to going down to breakfast. So she stayed.

"I think it's time you spent a few more nights with those fifth year boys you like so much," Draco said cheerfully.

"Draco!" Pansy shrieked. "You . . . you can't believe those rumors!"

Five more minutes. The clock seemed frozen, yet the ticking second hand was the only object that made any noise in the room. The silence was palpable.

"Let's stop seeing each other. You know this is all bullshit."

Hermione covered her ears to muffle the scream. Pansy fell to her knees, knocking loudly against a few a desks and chairs, and promptly began to writhe from her sobs. It was quite the spectacle. The pathetic scene made Hermione feel a large twinge of annoyance at Malfoy's insensitivity. She stood up from her desk and marched over to the prostrated Pansy, helping her stand and lean against the wall for support. True, Pansy was no saint but she deserved better than the callous rejection Malfoy offered.

Pansy said nothing but continued to sob and hiccup into a silk embroidered handkerchief. "Bloody hell, how can you be so idealistic?" Malfoy snapped. "You're not getting _this_—" (he motioned his body) "—if you're sleeping around."

"I HATE YOU!" Pansy suddenly shouted, her voice thick from her stuffed nose. She gave a dramatic sigh and dashed out into the hall, lifting her arms up to cover her face and conspicuously raising her dress shirt to reveal that she was wearing a thong.

"Classy," Malfoy noted. His smirk widened.

"Malfoy, you . . . really should treat her better," Hermione said with some difficulty, holding back a scowl. She could not forget the years of taunting from Pansy and her gang. "After all, she was your girlfriend for how long?"

He rolled his eyes. "We were just fuck buddies, really. She just started telling people we were going steady and I never bothered to deny it."

"Well, at least use some tact when dealing with human beings. I know it's hard for you." Hermione rolled her eyes too. She couldn't help but curse herself for not staying in the dorm room. Life was too full of drama for its own good. She was about to turn back to her seat when Malfoy grabbed the back of her sweater and clenched his hand into a tight fist.

"Does the name Pansy Parkinson elicit tact?" Malfoy barked. "Don't be such a know-it-all, Granger. But of course, I know it's hard for you."

They glared at each other with a soul-burning intensity for several long moments.

"What's going on here?"

Hermione jumped and glanced towards the door. Ron had walked in, with Lavender trailing closely behind him. Hermione's heart lurched when she saw they were holding hands, but she made herself look away.

Ron laughed loudly and forcefully. "Meeting in secret now? Sorry to disturb."

Hermione felt tears sting the corners of her eyes. She closed them and raised her head towards the ceiling before suddenly grabbing Malfoy's arm and forcing a grin.

"Oops, it seems we've been discovered, right Malfoy?" she said with a girlish giggle, swinging Malfoy's arm enthusiastically.

"Indeed it does, Granger," he replied after a short pause. She looked at him, astonished that he was playing along so easily. He had his cheeks sucked in, as if he was stifling a laugh. "Come, let us go to our seats."

Before Hermione came out of her stupor, Malfoy dragged both of them to the front desk that she had sat at before class. He pushed her into her old seat and plopped down on the chair next to her. "_Accio book bag_," he commanded. His books zoomed to the front and landed neatly in front of him. Hermione was all too aware of the whispers behind her as more students walked in and saw them together.

"Th-thanks," she choked. The held-back tears finally began to fall. She wanted to hit herself. After nights of telling herself that she was better off without Ron, she still could not control her feelings when she saw him. It was just like the first day of sixth year when she saw him snogging Lavender senselessly. She hurriedly wiped her eyes and stared at the blackboard, just as more tears began to form above her lower eyelid, threatening to tumble down her cheeks.

"Come on now, Granger. Crying makes people look ugly," Malfoy said. Hermione laughed silently, but it make her choke up even more.

Malfoy suddenly took up his wand and pointed it to Hermione's books and quills. He muttered something under his breath and blue sparks shot out from his wand. The books and quills shuddered for a second, then each one exploded into a million shreds like several small paper and feather fireworks. Hermione gasped, and gasped again when the fragments immediately reformed into the original items only to explode again. The cycle repeated over and over again, like a miniature and silent fireworks show. She watched, mesmerized by the prettiness and advanced magic.

"What are you—"

Malfoy shrugged and said, "My mum used to do that to amuse me. Like if I scraped my knee or something, she would explode random things and I'd forget about the pain." He smirked again. "Distraction from the pressing issue, always the Slytherin way. Girls love it for some reason."

Hermione let a small, watery smile escape her lips. "You must be showing it to simpering fools."

"Ones such as you, Granger. Good work."

She made a "hmph" noise, but inside she did feel better. For what seemed to be the hundredth time, she thought of how ironic it was that Malfoy was the cause of all her problems, yet he was the one who always someone brought out her smile.

She felt refreshed and answered even more questions than usual during class. Professor Flitwick seemed very pleased and made several comments regarding Hermione's imminent success on the Charms N.E.W.T. She walked out of the classroom with an uncontainable grin and started towards the castle front door to get to the Herbology greenhouses. The fresh air was welcome. The weather had become the curious hybrid of summer and autumn, as the sun beat its rays onto the earth while a slightly chilly wind grazed across the school grounds.

Hermione crossed her arms against the cold and turned her head down. They were going to learn how to handle adult mandrakes today. Professor Sprout hinted that they would start harvesting the most mature ones if the class behaved. Hermione stared into the ground, walking and grinning. She mumbled soundlessly to herself the procedure: first, one must wear the magical ear plugs (as plain earmuffs would not suffice anymore), then while wearing special gloves swiftly pull the plant from the base of the woody stalk. Usually the shock will prevent the mandrake from crying too loudly. They need to be cut immediately, fresh from the pot, to retain the magical healing juices or else they decay very rapidly to form a poisonous film over the branches and leaves. . . .

"Gone loony, have you?"

Her eye automatically began to twitch. Hermione stared at the ground even harder and marched quickly forward, leaving Malfoy behind. "Hey!" he screamed, picking up his own pace. "Who do you think you—"

WHACK.

She didn't know how, but she was sitting on her behind. She felt a sting on her forehead as the breeze blew past, and after a few seconds her eyes focused on a brown pole in front of her. No, not a pole. It was a tree trunk. She lightly pressed the area above her eyes and saw dirt and flecks of blood on her fingers. All the evidence pointed to the horrifying conclusion that Hermione Granger had undoubtedly, unequivocally, indeed run straight into a tree.

"Are you quite all right?" Malfoy said. His voice was shaking from trying not to laugh. The effort shortly proved too great, and his laughs burst out in a giant roar. A few students walking by giggled and whispered to each other, pointing to the tree in front of Hermione. Others stared at the hysterical Malfoy.

"G-GO AWAY, YOU PRAT!" Hermione screamed.

She hurriedly gathered her spilled books and moved towards the greenhouses as quickly as possible. She could feel her eyes and cheeks burn, and she felt the shame welling up along with the tears. She was such a weak person now. Why did she cry for every single unimportant thing? She wiped her eyes with a short deft movement, hopefully undetectable to those unaware of her.

Once inside greenhouse three, Hermione quickly took the seat nearest the teacher once again.

"Oh dear, Miss Granger, what happened to your forehead?" Professor Sprout asked. She had just come in through the storage room, carrying an armful of earplugs, earmuffs, and gloves.

Hermione's face grew even hotter. She shook her head quickly and smiled genially. "It's nothing, Professor. I hit my head on . . . on my bed post while getting up this morning."

"Poor thing! Do be more careful. Well if you feel all right, can you help me transfer the mandrake pots?"

Hermione and Professor Sprout moved the large ceramic pots from the storage area out onto the work tables. The students began to pour into the greenhouse, mumbling excitedly about the mandrake harvest. Once the bell rang, each student picked out a partner quickly and stood next to a pot. The greenhouse was hot and humid with the packed class, and Hermione pursed her lips in scorn. Professor Sprout may have been too generous for her own good, as half of all the seventh years seemed to be in the N.E.W.T. Herbology class.

They listened to Professor Sprout and put on their gloves, ear plugs, and earmuffs. Lavender had forced Ron to be her partner, so Harry went with Neville. Everyone had a partner except Hermione, and she felt slightly lonely. However, she remained near the front and paid close attention, the first to start once the professor had finished her demonstrations.

"Very good," Professor Sprout mouthed as she passed Hermione.

Hermione beamed and began working with considerable efficiency and speed. The silence from the ear plugs and earmuffs ironically blocked out all of her thoughts as she concentrated on the mandrake—shaking the pot to loosen the soil, massaging the leaves to relax the mandrake, and so on. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the sturdy stalk, applying slow pressure, and in one quick motion she yanked the plant out.

She and the mandrake stared at each other for the smallest second. There was a look of mischievous determination on its face, as if it had a plan to escape somehow. She felt the vibrations through her gloves before it even opened its mouth.

Suddenly Hermione felt a tug from her ear. With wide eyes, she noticed Pansy cackling, and then everything was a blur. She heard everything and nothing, and saw only vague shapes and colors. There were people grabbing her, pressing over her ears, shaking her. She tried to speak, but her throat felt constricted. Where was she? What was going on?

Then, nothing.

* * *

Draco saw her first. Without thinking, he pulled his wand from his jeans and yelled, "_Diffindo!_" He couldn't hear himself say it, but sparks shot out of his wand and slashed the screaming mandrake in Granger's hand into pieces. Hannah Abbott had quickly knelt to the floor and hugged Hermione's exposed ears. Granger's eyes were rolling back into their sockets in a way that made Draco chilled to the bone. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, as if she were having a seizure.

White-faced Professor Sprout forced herself through the crowd of hysterical students and patted Granger's cheeks, but it was of no use. She tried to say something to Draco but he couldn't read her lips.

"What?" he screamed.

She repeated herself, exaggerating her mouth motions and using wide hand gestures. He understood that she meant for him to carry Granger.

"Where? Hospital wing?" he asked, his heart pounding in his chest. Sprout nodded quickly.

In a swift move, Draco scooped Granger's limp body in his arms and positively sprinted towards the castle. He saw the other idiot Gryffindors, too stupid to even move, gaping at Granger.

_Slytherin's pants, Granger, don't do anything stupid now_, he thought desperately. The absolute last thing he needed was to have a Mudblood die on him, literally and figuratively.

He kicked open the front doors and jumped up the staircase, nearly running over Professor McGonagall. She promptly plucked Draco's ear protection off and gave him a suspicious look.

"Mr. Malfoy, what on earth is going on? Why is Miss Granger fainted?"

"Granger got exposed to a mandrake scream—"

McGonagall's eyes widened. "Oh . . . oh, my. Hurry!"

They both ran to the third floor, where McGonagall rushed into the hospital wing.

"Quick, Poppy. We have an emergency," she said shortly.

Madam Pomfrey, surprisingly calm and uncomplaining, ripped the curtains away from an empty bed, and Draco quickly slid Granger off of his arms. She was completely motionless now. With a terrible lurch in his stomach, Draco noticed a small stream of blood flowing from her ears.

"Malfoy, how did this happen?" McGonagall choked out. "Miss Granger would never—she wouldn't—wouldn't make such a silly mistake as to take out her ear plugs."

"Granger didn't do anything. Pansy Parkinson was the one who pulled them out." Draco's breaths were coming in short, ragged bursts. For some reason, he thought of his father at the moment. "Is she—is she going to be all right?"

Cupping Granger's bushy head in one hand, Madam Pomfrey slipped a thick, viscous potion down her throat with the other hand. "It's impossible to say," Madam Pomfrey said grimly. "Right now, she's alive at least. It's lucky she wasn't exposed longer or else it would have been instant death. But I don't know. Minerva, could you send for a St. Mungo's specialist? I don't think we can move Miss Granger there, and I'm quite at a loss as to how to treat this."

The potion made Granger's body jerk for a moment before she became still again. They stared at her for a few seconds, and McGonagall got up and walked briskly out of the hospital wing.

Draco sat on a stool next to Granger's bed. He clenched his trembling hands in his lap, eyes closed. It was the first time anyone he knew personally ever came so close to death. Even though Granger was an annoying know-it-all, he couldn't help but feel shivers at the mere thought of her being gone. He was disgusted with himself for being so pathetic. Slytherins were supposed to be fearless, masters over death and darkness, but Draco could only sit and brood over his feelings like some spineless Hufflepuff. At that moment, the hospital wing door burst open and almost the entire Herbology class stampeded into the room.

"Is Hermione okay?" Potter asked desperately. He pushed through the crowd and knelt beside Granger on the other side of the bed from Draco. Weasley stood not far behind Potter, looking as if he had been kissed by a dementor.

"OUT!" snapped Madam Pomfrey to the rest of the students. "You may visit Miss Granger later if you wish. It's a hazard to have so many people here. Did you hear me?" She herded everyone except Draco, Potter, and Weasley out of the open doors.

The awkwardness of the group was felt immediately. Draco coughed a few times and made to leave the room before Potter looked at him straight in the eyes. Gray bore into green.

"Thanks, Malfoy," Potter muttered in an obligated sort of way.

"Pansy was trying to get revenge on her or something. I just didn't feel like letting the Mudblood die on my watch." Draco looked away and stood up. He was about halfway to the door when Weasley suddenly grabbed his arm and snarled, "Don't you fucking dare use that word about Hermione."

Draco laughed, slapping Weasley's hand off. "Don't you have some snogging with Brown to do?" he said, smirking. With that, he dug his hands into his jeans pockets and sauntered out of the hospital wing.

"Malfoy!" He felt a firm hand grab onto his shoulder. A glance backward told him it was McGonagall, who adjusted her glasses and looked at him, or rather, through him. "I know you and Granger aren't the best of friends, so I want to reward you for actually doing the morally correct thing today," McGonagall began. "So, I will award fifty points to Slytherin."

Draco's eye twitched with annoyance. "I appreciate it, Professor, but Pansy was the one who tried to kill Granger. I think that's about a fifty point deduction from Slytherin," he said emotionlessly.

It never occurred to him that he had done anything worth commending, and Potter and McGonagall's stupid Gryffindor sentiments irritated him. He turned away quickly and walked briskly toward the nearest staircase. He ran to the seventh floor and into the Heads dormitory. Avoiding looking at Granger's empty room, he crashed on his bed for the rest of the day.

At the dinner bell, he dragged his strangely weakened body out of the dormitory to the Great Hall. He felt famished, but then he had skipped lunch. Draco took his usual seat beside Crabbe and Goyle and grabbed a piece of bread before he realized most of the Slytherin table was staring at him.

"What?" he demanded with a sneer.

Zabini raised an eyebrow. "Well, we hear that you dumped Parkinson _and_ saved Granger in one day. It's a bit suspicious, wouldn't you say?"

"So what? Maybe I'm fucking Granger."

A stream of laughter erupted from the table. "I hope she wears a paper bag over her head at least!" someone down the row shouted.

Draco smirked and replied, "No paper bag can fit over that broomstick hair of hers."

The table laughed again and the awkward staring vanished soon enough. As Draco nibbled on his green beans, his mind constantly wandered back to the events of the day and, specifically, Granger. Did his actions really make it look like there was something between them? The mere thought made him slightly sick to the stomach. He disgustedly put his fork down and sipped pumpkin juice for the rest of dinner. He had smoothed over the snogging incident at the party by saying everyone was wasted as hell and no one could tell who was who, but he couldn't keep making up excuses all year long. Damn Granger was ruining his life even as a half-dead hospital wing patient. Something was wrong still. The table was quiet, too quiet, yet everyone was chattering as usual.

"Where's Pansy?" he asked suddenly.

Some girl part of Pansy's gang quipped, "McGonagall sent her packing immediately, but her father is working things out with the board of governors! Don't worry Draco, she'll be back soon, I'm sure."

Draco couldn't hold back his smirk. "Finally," he muttered to himself. "Granger in a vegetative state, Pansy on house arrest. Stupid women out of my life at last." He let out a small chuckle and easily downed the rest of his meal. After some more thought, he was satisfied with today's happenings; in one swoop, he was rid of two large annoyances _and_ he managed to irritate Potter and Weasley.

"What's wrong with you?" Goyle asked stupidly. "Bollocks, did they have the lemon cakes today? I missed them!" Crabbe whipped his head around at the word "cakes" and both of them scanned the table eagerly for the desserts.

"No, you idiot," said Malfoy. "Just keep eating. Don't mind me." He continued to smirk at this fortunate turn of events.

* * *

**Maaaaaaaybe the next chapter will come soon enough. I'm sorry guys, truly :(**


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